


i missed you for 29 years

by lisettedelapin



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: M/M, Manga ending universe, possible rating change later, somehow everyone managed to live past fifteen and now kaworu doesn't know what he's doing, things are good here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisettedelapin/pseuds/lisettedelapin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps he’s always needed Shinji more than Shinji needed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ['Slow Show' by The National](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCR0Tr2HTfA). Listen to it! At least once. Please.

In this world Kaworu is tired and ruled by nerves; cautious like a frightened child paired with the heave of the oldest soul on Earth and rolled into a body that seems to barely change. He is born here, born mostly unaware of all of the pasts he has already lived, and yet he feels caged and almost wild, like there is something, somewhere that he is meant to be seeking. It’s an ever-present worry that is deep rooted enough to line his very bones. When Ayanami Rei moves in with her family across the street, the unsettlement grows and then he’s tossing and turning every night; a ship breaking to a wreck in the stormy seas of dreams that shouldn’t be as tangible as they are. He doesn’t tell his parents. He can’t explain it, but he doesn’t quite want to let go.

He knows hands. Delicate over the ivory of a piano. Folded, unfolded, raised and clutched. Around his neck, knocking wind from his lungs.

He grows older; slowly (and sometimes quickly, in flashes and waves) he sees more until there are moments when he can feel the stretch of wasteland under his feet, the air of thousands of worlds and the dust settling in on himself; until he knows another boy’s face better than he knows his own. He tries not to speak to people about it—the jagged remains of all he has ever been. He keeps his unknown boy’s face a secret, guarded close and precious in all his deepest, darkest corners.

But sometimes it’s tough. Secrets are weighty business and at times Kaworu pines for nothing more than for someone to know all of his. So occasionally he will hint, quietly of course, and to no one but Rei.

Ayanami Rei is the hush of lonely afternoons and nights spent burrowed deep under the cover of blankets and thoughts that circle and bite. There is something in the obedient tilt of her head and the confliction in her eyes that makes sadness settle softly in the pit of Kaworu’s stomach. They follow each other from primary school to middle school and then later to high school. Kaworu likes the other students just fine, but they tend to shy away from the rawness that will occasionally lace his voice as well as the nervous twitches of his fingers. Rei is different though; she draws comfort from him and the gauzy familiarity of his speech. In lunch breaks and after school she likes to watch him play the piano, she can’t place whether he does it with an unpracticed ease or with the mark of someone who has been playing for centuries but either way she thinks it’s special and she likes how he will always ask for her opinion when he’s done. When he needs it, she allows him to speak vaguely of his dreams, of feeling like he is being consumed by the weight of reaching for something unattainable and the constant fear that this Earth could fall and crash at any moment. All-soft-words-smoke-thin-Rei understands; Kaworu knows she does.

~

Kaworu is eight years old with chubby cheeks and fingers when he first sees the boy. They’re the same age and so he hasn’t yet grown into the image that Kaworu knows. But Kaworu has never been so certain of anything before; certain of the slightly hesitant manner in which the boy walks and the way he shies away from looking people straight in the eyes.

By the time Kaworu can think to do something there are reckless children running through his sandpit and he has to stop to shield himself. When the attack is over and he looks back up it is only to see the boy being led away by the hand of a tall woman. He holds her hand tightly as her skirt swishes around her calves.

Kaworu is left caught between helplessness, frustration and an acute relief. Mostly, he is left with the name “Shinji” clear in his head, against his ears and lingering soundly on his tongue. He’s never been great at remembering names, but he feels like he’s spoken “Shinji” too many times to have kept count.

~

At sixteen Kaworu remembers everything. Including the fact that sixteen is a number he has never seen prior to this. Simple things like growth spurts that leave him odd and gangly are surreal and kind of overwhelming. He is grateful for the fresh time, as well as impatient to see Shinji again (he knows he will, he will, he will).

It’s at sixteen that he sees Shinji for the second time. Kaworu is all hair that will not behave despite all of his mother’s and Rei’s best efforts, and awkward limbs that he hasn’t seemed to quite master the art of controlling. He doesn’t remember to be embarrassed by any of that when he sees Shinji walking in his direction, squeezed in the midst of a heavy crowd. He’s closer to the Shinji that Kaworu knows now than the first time but there’s still enough change for Kaworu to ache for lost time. He’s hungry; thoughts scrambling as he tries to see all the details he’s had to miss at the hands of both of their broken life lines.

Kaworu’s eyes are too slow and Shinji is too fast. His scarf is red, Kaworu holds onto that fact for as long as he has to.

~

When they truly find each other, it’s a lot later than usual.  It’s mid June and they’re both twenty-one when they literally collide in the empty aisle of a 24/7 supermarket. The force is strong enough to knock Kaworu straight to the floor, the contents of his shopping basket skittering across the tiles.

His throat runs dry when he looks up, straight into wide brown eyes. The colour is exactly as he remembers from his first timeline. The shock of that familiarity fades so fast that Kaworu barely registers it when Shinji Ikari opens his mouth and actually speaks.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” He’s rushing to help Kaworu up and all Kaworu can do is stare.

He hasn’t heard Shinji’s voice in twenty-one years. It’s almost foreign now – no longer soft around the edges. Any traces of youth have been stripped away along with the baby fat on his cheeks. His shoulders are broader, hands bigger, and when Kaworu is finally on his feet and at his full height, it is only to find that Shinji now stands an inch or two taller than him.

His skin feels more alive than it has in ages but there’s something new that’s taking hold of his shoulders, nagging against his ears.

There are no evas or angels here; this world sits sturdy, away from the grasp of power-hungry men and their frozen hearts. Shinji Ikari could very well be happy. He might own an apartment and a puppy. At night he might warm his feet on the legs of a partner who isn’t Kaworu, wake up to cups of coffee and clean laundry. And where, just where could Kaworu fit into all of that?

For the first time in his life, it occurs to Kaworu that Shinji might not need him.

He staggers. Shinji looks at him concernedly, hand half raised to steady him if need be. There is too much that Kaworu wants to say and do and he’s tangled in all these new doubts and thoughts; all he manages is to keep staring at Shinji, wild eyed and a little lost.

He doesn’t want to leave. It’s been too long.

“Are you okay?” Shinji asks once again. His voice is careful now, testing and Kaworu wonders what he must look like to merit such a tone.

Finally, he swallows and nods slowly. “I’m fine, thank you,” he says. His voice sounds thick, alien to himself. If he were to step backwards, into an older timeline, would the Shinji of then recognise him as he is now?

Neither of them says a word for a moment, until Kaworu registers the clearly uncomfortable look on Shinji’s face and he finds himself panicking.  “Are you alright? I must have hit you pretty hard as well.”

“No, no! I’m fine, I mean…you were the one that fell and-“ Shinji smiles meekly, scratching the back of his neck.

Kaworu can feel his heart thrumming against his skin. It feels like it’s commanding his nerves, ready to revolt against his body. Somehow, he manages to smile back. He’s trying so hard to be smooth like he was in the past but his legs are shaking and he doesn’t quite remember how to be soft and guiding – the focused figure of other timelines. 

Perhaps he’s always needed Shinji more than Shinji needed him.

He leans down to gather his fallen groceries, heart still ticking away. Shinji is quick to kneel beside him and try to help.  Kaworu watches his hands as he places the items in Kaworu’s basket, tracks them as he wipes them on the fabric of his jeans.

“I’m really sorry about that, should have been more careful,” says Shinji.

He looks so guilty that this time Kaworu’s answering smile is stronger, graceful enough to be closer to what used to come easy. “Accidents happen, it’s fine.”

Shinji looks at him, just a little dazed. “Still, you could have been hurt and you know-“

“I’m fine, really. Please don’t worry about it.” Kaworu wonders just what exactly Shinji does worry about nowadays, hopes dearly that it’s simple things.

Shinji waits a beat, he looks ready to turn away but instead he opens his mouth. “I’m Shinji, by the way. Ikari Shinji.”

He has to bite his tongue against “I know”. Instead Kaworu focuses on the shock of hearing Shinji introduce himself first, of all the loops he has experienced, this has never happened. He feels his shoulders loosen in a rush of dizzying affection for this boy, for whatever circumstances have allowed him to stand exactly as he is now.

He can’t let this end just yet.

“Nagisa Kaworu. But I’d like it if you would call me Kaworu.” He speaks as if they’ll be seeing a lot of each other. False confidence has always worked in his favour, at least initially.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kaworu.”

~

He’s never had the chance to speak to Shinji under such normal circumstances. He’s not sure of much at all – of how to make himself available, if he even should make himself available. All he understands is that he wants to wrap Shinji’s voice around his bones.  The tips of his ears still warm when Shinji smiles, his fingertips still flex to touch the corners of his lips. He still burns to  _know_ Shinji.

Kaworu has never been good at doing things purely for himself.

And so it’s by some miracle that when they both exit the store and Kaworu stalls a little, Shinji does not leave. Instead, he sits on the street curb. The look he sends Kaworu, a question of whether he will sit with him or not, is so fast that Kaworu almost misses it.  _Almost._ Kaworu sits down quick enough to feel his head spin. The wind is slowly getting louder, changing from a whisper to a wheeze as it rumples their hair. Shinji shivers, looking cautiously to the clouds hanging low and ashy in the sky.

“There’s meant to be a storm tonight. Thunder and all,” he offers.

Kaworu files this away, finds importance in how Shinji looks as he watches the sky. “Are you afraid of thunder?” he asks.

Shinji frowns for a moment, measuring his response. “Not really afraid…but I guess there are days where it’s good – almost refreshing – but then there are others where it kind of um…”

“Shakes you?”

Shinji hums in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

They sit in amiable silence until Kaworu hears rustling. He’s certain that this will be it, that this is Shinji fishing for car keys so he can leave and Kaworu will be stuck spending the rest of his life wondering whether or not Shinji could have wanted him back. Things are good here, there is so much more to lose and Kaworu can’t help the feeling that if something goes wrong at his hands, it won’t be as simple as redo, rewrite and repeat.

His worries are irrelevant, at least for now; Shinji is simply digging into his shopping bag for a packet of chips. He knows he couldn’t possibly leave before Shinji does, and if this is all he has to buy more time, well then he’s never been more grateful for a packet of chips in his life. The sound of the foil rustling as Shinji tries and fails to open it is much too sharp in the chill air and it’s not too long before Kaworu lays out his palm, the ghost of a smile lingering at his lips.

“Could I try?”

Shinji’s cheeks redden slightly as he hands Kaworu the packet. It’s the closest he’s looked to when he was a teenager and Kaworu relaxes in spite of himself. He struggles with the packet but it’s okay because from the corner of his eye, he can see Shinji trying to hide a smile. When he finally gets it open and he tries to return it, Shinji pushes his hands back. The touch is enough to knot his stomach, eyes widening as Shinji shakes his head. 

“You have some first,” he says.

Kaworu needs to remember to breathe, remember to function. He finds himself fighting the urge to take Shinji’s hands, check for calluses and trace all the differences these extra years have marked him with. Instead, fingers trembling, he takes a chip before passing the packet back.

Shinji all but inhales an entire handful at once before remembering he’s not alone. He turns to Kaworu, smiling  apologetically before swallowing.   
“Ah, sorry, I um, I haven’t really eaten all day so I’m kind of hungry and I can’t eat while I’m driving home because that would be dangerous.” He still looks at the ground between sentences.

“Please, go ahead,” Kaworu says. “Besides, you are supposed to eat three balanced meals a day,” he adds as an afterthought.

Shinji laughs softly. “I’m not sure if you could really classify this as a balanced meal.”

“I wouldn’t know to be honest.” Kaworu takes a moment to rummage through his own shopping bag before emerging with a cup of instant noodles. “I mainly eat these.”

“You don’t cook?”

“No, I tend to burn things,” Kaworu replies, smiling impishly.

“You don’t have anyone to cook for you?” As soon as the words escape his mouth, Shinji looks away, bashful. “Sorry, I’m prying. You don’t have to answer that.”

Kaworu notes the way Shinji leans back, like he’s trying to realise his boundaries by creating physical space between them. “I don’t mind,” he says. He doesn’t scoot closer.

~

The wind picks up. They keep talking. When it gets cold enough for both of them to be shivering in earnest and they can smell the first signs of rain, Shinji heaves himself up and offers a hand to Kaworu.

“It looks like the storm might start soon. I should get going.”

He’s known that this is what all of this had to lead up to but still, Kaworu’s stomach sinks. There’s one more thing he needs to know, and if this could be over after now, he decides he’s going to ask.

“Are you happy?” he says, voice even.

Shinji’s outstretched hand falls to his side as he looks to Kaworu bewilderedly. Nevertheless, he bites instead of ignoring the question. “I guess…I don’t really see why I shouldn’t be. Why?”

Kaworu shakes his head. “No, not whether or not you think you should be happy. Are you happy?”

Shinji frowns, clutches his bag a little tighter. “Sure. Yeah, I’m more or less happy.”

He tells himself not to cling to the “less” in “more or less”. It stings, Kaworu realises. And it shouldn’t, he should feel good. He’s bent the rules of time itself to chase this boy, in the hope that somewhere he could live the life he deserves.

“That’s good,” Kaworu says quietly, and his words have never felt so wooden.

Shinji softens, looking slightly guilty and it’s then that Kaworu understands just how much these loops have changed him. What he feels is no longer curiosity or attraction or a selfless desire to see Shinji smile; he needs Shinji to love him back. And that’s not such a good thing considering his history.

He used to marvel in the moments he felt so completely human. When did those moments begin to stretch into entire lifelines and become his very nature?

Rain is beginning to fall, but he’s not shivering anymore. “I’m glad I got to meet you, Shinji.” 

Shinji hesitates before nodding slowly. The atmosphere feels all wrong. “It was nice talking to you.”

Kaworu gets the impression he means it. Still, they leave for their respective cars.

There’s a bolt of lightning that strikes through the sky, and perhaps against his better judgement, Shinji stops and calls out Kaworu’s name. When he turns, there’s a dangerous rush of hope that’s threatening to sweep Kaworu from the inside out.

“How far do you live?” asks Shinji.

“I’d say around forty minutes.”

“It might be dangerous to drive, so um…”

Kaworu doesn’t move, doesn’t blink.

“I’m only ten minutes away from here, so maybe it’d be better if I let you…um, if I let you stay at my house until the storm is over? I could drive you back here to your car when it’s over…”

“O-okay,” Kaworu replies. He’s never been one to stutter but he feels like his heart is swelling straight up into his throat   

~

When they’re both safe inside Shinji’s car, and the heater is turned right up, Kaworu glances out the window and asks Shinji, “Is today a good day for thunder or a bad day?”

Shinji takes a moment. “A good day,” he says slowly.

Kaworu watches him drive from the corner of his eye. He’s careful, always right in the middle of the correct lane, eyes focused on the road.

Kaworu used to be like that. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooooweee

Shinji Ikari lives in a tiny apartment, two flights of stairs away from the ground in a quiet, well-sheltered part of town. Kaworu sticks close to him, taking note of the ease in which he navigates the bends of the hallway.

“Sorry again, about making you take the stairs,” Shinji says with a sheepish smile, hesitating at the door.

Kaworu can’t help the impression that Shinji is nervous. But as he dwells on the twisting of his own stomach, he thinks that might be more wishful thinking than anything else. He shakes his head, a few stray raindrops falling from his hair. “I don’t mind. After all, it’s not your fault that the elevator is broken.”

Shinji smiles, still a little apologetically, and turns his attention back to the door. He’s just managed to fish his keys out of his pocket when Kaworu speaks again.

“This is a nice building,” is all he says. But the words are hushed, as if he’s trying to guard them to himself.

Shinji hums agreeably. “Yeah, it is,” he says before he’s leaning against the door as it opens with a soft click. Once he’s inside, he turns to Kaworu who is still standing in the doorway, shopping bags hanging lazily from the loose grip of his fingers. “Uh, you can come in,” he says, raising an eyebrow before catching himself. “S-sorry, it might be a little messy though. It’s been a while since I last had someone over,” he warns, biting his lip and running his thumb over the doorknob.

Kaworu shakes his head. Once he steps inside, slipping his shoes off in the entryway and swapping them for the spare pair of slippers Shinji gestures towards, he confirms that the apartment is anything but messy.

The first thing he notices is that it smells fresh; the dry fragrance of washing powder that sticks close to Shinji is thicker here. And of all the things he could notice first, he thinks that might be one of the most dangerous. He has to clench his fists, resisting the urge to run his fingers up the fabric of Shinji’s shirt, lean close so he can inhale the scent of his hair. _Too long, it’s been too long._ He tries to focus on the plastic cutting into the folds of his fingers and the lightness of his chest as he slowly exhales before he manages to right himself and resume inspecting the space. The walls are a pale blue and mostly bare, everything is kept neat and orderly, but not so much so that it feels rigid or cold. Kaworu thinks it suits Shinji very well.

Twenty-one strikes him once again. “Your apartment is very—” He grapples for the right word. “It’s very appealing,” he finally settles on.

He hopes Shinji can’t tell that he doesn’t just mean the apartment. He means this boy – _21,_ he exhales – no, this man’s whole life. He pictures himself being in this position earlier; knowing Shinji from the beginning and his chest hurts. ‘Appealing’ doesn’t convey his gratitude, or the ache of _What Ifs_ that it’s hazed by; but as far as he knows, there isn’t any lilin word to exist for that. In the past, perhaps he’d have studied dictionaries to confirm that thought. Now, he realises that what he’s put himself through isn’t exactly a normal human experience. It doesn’t feel like much of an achievement when he thinks to himself that no word could quite contain it.

He can’t be bitter though, now is not the moment for that because Shinji is smiling, ducking his head before responding and Kaworu thinks he sees some sort of shy pride in the gesture. “Did the rain get you very badly? Did you want a towel or anything?”

Kaworu touches his hair lightly; it’s just barely damp. Shinji’s gaze follows his hand and lingers a moment longer than what is normal. “I’m fine, thank you. I wouldn’t want to impose any more than I already am.”

Shinji is leaning against the wall now. Neither of them are making a move to go past the entryway. “Don’t worry about that. It would’ve been worse if you’d gotten in an accident while you were driving home in this storm. Besides, I finished my assignment earlier so it’s not like I really had anything to do.”

“Assignment? Are you a student?”

“In university,” Shinji says purposefully. Kaworu wonders if he gets mistaken for being younger. He can’t imagine how that would be possible as his gaze sweeps over Shinji’s shoulders.

Over on the coffee table, he spies a stack of textbooks. The spines are all bruised and he can make out swirling galaxies printed on the covers. There’s a pair of glasses folded neatly to the side.

“Are you studying a science?” he asks.

Shinji follows Kaworu’s gaze, glancing over his shoulder to his textbooks. “Uh, yeah, I’m actually specialising in astronomy.”

The more Kaworu finds out about Shinji’s life the harder it is to leave and the stronger his unease grows. He wants to stay with him, learn all that he can, just as he has in his past. But everything already seems so right; what would his purpose be? All Kaworu has ever been is purpose, it’s what has anchored him to this universe through countless lives.

“Do you enjoy it?” He hates that there’s a tiny part of him that hopes for a “no” or a “but” or even just a hint of hesitance. He’s pressing for cracks here – some part of Shinji’s life that he might be able to wedge himself into.

“Yeah,” Shinji murmurs. He looks shy about it but he swallows and starts speaking again. “It’s hard work, and it was very stressful trying to get into, but now that I’m here I honestly couldn’t imagine doing anything else.” There’s a tentative spark to his eyes, cadence warming as he speaks. And there’s that weight again, happy but with a definite edge that cuts into Kaworu’s chest.

Still, it’s reassuring to know that he still has it in him to be genuinely happy for Shinji. He’s seen love and desperation mix to create a new kind of monster. He’s seen it eat people alive, but he isn’t all the way there yet. When he smiles at Shinji, it doesn’t feel like his insides are spilling out his bones and prodding against his thin skin.

“You’re amazing.” The words come easy, rush off his tongue like they’ve been waiting for years.

Shinji colours a deep red and shakes his head but he doesn’t dismiss that small victory entirely. “I give it my all.”

Kaworu wants to tell him he’s amazing again, wants to curl up on his couch and listen to him speak, touch his cheeks occasionally. He can still hear the storm outside and he’s never felt the yearning for God that he’s grown so accustomed to seeing in others, but he’s praying to something that it doesn’t slow down any time soon.

Shinji yawns and stretches far enough for some of his joints to crack. “Do you want something to eat? I could make you dinner.”

Kaworu thinks back to the chips, realises that Shinji is probably still starving. “Perhaps we could eat the instant noodles I bought? It’s late, you must be too tired to cook anything.”

“Ah, if you really don’t mind, that’s not such a bad idea.”

“It isn’t a problem. Like I said, I’m quite used to this type of food.” 

~

Kaworu offers to help out but Shinji insists for him to stay put and make himself at home. Kaworu doesn’t mention that part of the reason why he wants to help is so he can watch how Shinji moves in his kitchen. He recalls a great many timelines where Shinji had an interest in cooking, he wonders if it’s the same here. How naturally does he reach for higher cupboards? Does he even need to look as he moves to grasp pots and pans? And what might his hands look like curling confidently over necessary ingredients?

It’s a lost cause though; Shinji herds him into the lounge room before rushing off with a hasty “Five minutes!”

He doesn’t explore the apartment like he wants to, he’s learnt the hard way that when people say “make yourself at home” they often don’t mean for you to take it literally. Besides, it feels as if it would be wrong to leave too much of an impression on anything here. He’ll be gone soon; any marks would be no more than a nuisance, the clingy frayed edges of his jumper. Instead, he sits gingerly on the far end of Shinji’s couch and tries to inspect his surroundings from there. He notices what looks to be a cello case tucked away in one corner of the room, next to a shelf with a row of framed photos sitting atop it. Kaworu wonders who might be in those photographs, what type of people make up Shinji’s life. His heart beats faster when he allows himself to run his fingers over the spines of Shinji’s books; somehow, the feeling of the ridges of each letter against his skin seems intimate. He imagines Shinji wearing his glasses, poring over those books late into the night. Occasionally, he might stop to rub his eyes and yawn. Kaworu’s throat feels tighter, breath coming shallow. 

~

He doesn’t know how, but Kaworu thinks these instant noodles are the best meal he’s had since he and Rei started living together. He decides that Shinji is definitely a good cook.

“This is delicious,” he says between mouthfuls. They’re sitting across from each other at Shinji’s tiny dining table, close enough for Kaworu to watch him and far enough to lull himself into a sense of security. There is enough space between his hands and Shinji to stop himself from reaching out, enough distance for his words to stay measured, thoughts not racing to catch them.

Shinji smiles softly, eyes warming. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s much better than when I make it.”

“It can’t be that hard!”

Kaworu sighs. “No, I’ve been told I’m a lost cause.”

Shinji’s answering frown is much too endearing to be safe. “Anyone can learn to cook. Maybe I could teach you someday.”

Kaworu’s noodles seem to go cold in his mouth, his eyes widen. ‘Someday’ is dangerous, ‘someday’ is hopeful. Wildly, it registers to him that this is how people become friends. If Shinji truly understood the baggage he came with, would he still be trying?

“Maybe,” he says, weakly enough for Shinji to direct his attention to the table, the corners of his lips turning downwards.

He feels guilty immediately. He’s so caught up in trying to figure out whether he needs to lay himself out to Shinji or run as far as possible that he’s forgotten just how gut wrenching it is to see him upset. “I really do appreciate it very much. It’s been a long time since I got to eat something this nice. My flatmate…she’s quite hopeless as well.”

Shinji blushes. “I-It’s just instant noodles,” he says. He takes a slow sip of water, gaze still fixed on the table. When he next speaks, it is only when the pink of his cheeks has dulled considerably. “A flatmate sounds good,” he murmurs, picking at the ends of the tablecloth.

“Do you–,“ Kaworu pauses, lowering his voice slightly before pressing on. “Do you not like being alone?” His palms are sweating.

Shinji starts, chin jerking up as he looks to Kaworu with wide-eyes. Frowning, Kaworu finds himself tensing at the odd reaction. He licks his lips before trying to fix Shinji with a gentle smile. But his eyes are sharp, poised to assess his actions.

Shinji licks his own lips before shaking his head. “No, it’s—I’m fine here,” he says, swallowing thickly. “It’s better than the alternative, anyway.”

Kaworu’s voice is careful as he responds. “What would the alternative be?”

“I don’t have a very good relationship with my father. Let’s just say I spent a lot of time trying to figure him out rather than myself. More time than he deserves.”

Kaworu’s smile fades fast, the creases in his forehead deepening as he frowns harder. Shinji doesn’t need to say anymore; Kaworu already knows. His stomach churns with the knowledge that even here, Gendo Ikari still exists, still doesn’t give a shit about his only son.

“Well I’m glad.” His voice is harder when he continues. “That you figured things out, that is.”

It takes a moment for Kaworu to realise that the way Shinji is looking at him now is questioning, almost calculating. He’s gripping his chopsticks, eyes narrowing slightly as his gaze rakes over Kaworu’s face.

He only softens when Kaworu feels the tips of his ears burn. “Anyway, never mind. Point is, I’m away from him. It’s better for both of us that way.”

Kaworu nods, beginning to eat again and feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious in this new, weighty silence. _Boundaries. Remember boundaries._

Apparently, Shinji is feeling it too because when he speaks, his voice is warmer. The change is a little forced, but it’s still there and Kaworu decides he’ll respect wherever Shinji wants to take this.

“What’s your flatmate like?”

Kaworu lips quirk as he thinks of Rei. “We’ve grown up together. She’s very quiet, but she thinks a lot. Too much, I’d say. She questions things she doesn’t want to question, things she shouldn’t have to question.”

Shinji nods, jaw stuck like he doesn’t know what to say. Kaworu takes pity.

“I’m really very lucky to have her, though. I think she feels the same way. About me, that is.”

This time Shinji’s smile is genuine as he pushes his bowl to the side and leans in a little closer. “And she can’t cook either?”

Kaworu laughs softly. The sound of it, rising quickly from his chest, as well as the lightness he feels for that split second surprise him. It's worse when it all comes back, heavier than before. But Shinji looks so pleased; the smile he manages comes easy. “She’s terrible. I’m terrible. Our cooking is terrible.”

Shinji’s nose wrinkles slightly as he laughs. Kaworu feels like he can taste the sound, it’s warm and rich – deeper than he’s ever heard it, and it makes him want so badly to kiss Shinji’s throat.

The following silence is comfortable. Shinji looks idly to the window as Kaworu finishes eating.

“It’s been storming for ages, huh?” Shinji says, resting his cheek against the palm of his hand.

Kaworu likes the brown of his eyes. _Doe eyes,_ he thinks. An expression he’d read in a book years ago. It makes him smile. “I guess it has been quite a while.”

Shinji shifts to look absent-mindedly back at Kaworu as he straightens up from his chair, moving to gather their bowls. Once Shinji registers what is happening, he’s quick to stand as well. His chair squeaks sharply against the hardwood flooring and Kaworu doesn’t notice it at all.

Shinji’s hands close around his wrists and Kaworu freezes, staring down at Shinji’s fingers before tearing his gaze back to Shinji’s face. His mouth is working desperately as his lungs and his heart seem to forget to function. When Shinji notices his face, he’s quick to pull back, laying his palms flat in the air. “Hey, okay. Sorry about that,” he says, eyebrows drawn in concern.

Kaworu’s hands are shaking, he feels like his entire body is shaking. Inhale. Exhale. _Function._ He won’t tell himself to repeat. His eyes are burning as he looks at Shinji, his shoulders, his hands and he has to bite the inside of his cheek just so he can gasp, remember to breathe.

“K-Kaworu, are you—“

Kaworu feels himself focus, feels his weight on the floor and finally, manages to hiss out a shaky breath between his teeth before really looking at Shinji; back to his eyes. He clenches and unclenches his fists before shaking his head. His voice trembles when he speaks. “S-Sorry. You’re fine, Shinji. I just…” How does he explain it, how does he explain that weight? _Sorry, you’ve seen me die. I’ve seen you die. I can’t believe you can touch me._

Shinji nods. “Yeah,” he says weakly, busying himself with gathering their dishes. “It’s alright, I um…I won’t do it again.”

Kaworu’s throat is thick with how badly he wants to tell Shinji that no, he’s spent years tiding himself over with thoughts of his touch, it’s not that, it’s not that. He didn’t mean to recoil. Nothing comes.

Shinji chances a tentative glance from the stack of dishes in his hands to Kaworu’s face. “I’ll be right back,” he says. The storm is still rattling the windowpane, cracking against the ground outside. “Go sit down on the couch, I’ll be there!” He calls from the kitchen.

Kaworu nods to nothing, runs his jittery fingers through his hair and makes his way to the sofa. Fleetingly, he thinks to himself that Shinji is being much too kind to no more than a stranger. 

~

 

When Shinji comes to him, smelling vaguely of detergent and putting a polite amount of distance between them on the sofa they’re both quiet. Kaworu fidgets, feeling like the sound of both their breathing is far too loud. Finally, Shinji scratches the back of his neck before reaching for the T.V remote.

“Do you mind?” He asks, eyes earnest as he points towards the T.V.

Kaworu shakes his head. “Please, go ahead,” he says, grateful for the promise of sound, distraction.

The evening news rings soft. Kaworu watches the newsreader’s mouth move and listens to him speak without registering any meaning to the words. The air around them is still too thick.

It takes a particularly loud clap of thunder to ease the space between the two. The noise has both of them jumping, hands scrambling at the sofa. When Kaworu’s heartbeat returns to its usual pace and he manages to stop digging his fingers into his cushion he turns to Shinji, only to find him already staring. They stay like that for a moment, and it’s so ridiculous that eventually the hard line of Shinji’s mouth spreads into a smile and Kaworu can’t help but mirror the action before they’re both laughing a little breathlessly.

Finally Kaworu’s shoulders loosen and he manages to relax, back sinking against the sofa.

“Are you really watching?” Shinji says.

“Honestly?”

Shinji nods, his earlier laugh lingering in the curve of his lips.

“No, not really.”

Shinji laughs again. Kaworu doesn’t think he’s ever heard it fall this easily, this frequently. He’s not complaining, however much it twists at his gut to know that he’s not going to hear it after today.

Shinji lowers the volume of the T.V slightly. His fingers are drumming against his knee when he speaks. “So…”

“Do you play the cello?” Kaworu asks, because it’s been bothering him since they sat down and he can tell Shinji doesn’t feel comfortable when there’s no more than quiet between them.

Shinji looks a little flustered as he shakes his head. “Not really. I mean, nowhere near as much as I used to. I only know a little bit.”

Kaworu smiles, even as he feels oddly like his heart is skipping against his chest. He’s looking at Shinji’s hands again, imagining how they might look on a cello – curled on the fingerboard, the way he’d hold his bow. And he knows the image, he’s seen it multiple times in the past but he wants desperately to find out if age has changed the way Shinji does it. Perhaps he’s gentler to compensate for new strength. Kaworu’s throat feels a little dry as he speaks again and he picks his words carefully; measuring reason, effect, just how much damage he might inflict on himself.  “I’ve never had the chance to learn.”  
  
Shinji gives a thoughtful hum. His eyes are light and briefly, Kaworu thinks that he’s glad that whatever was swallowing him whole moments ago has gone back to waiting as they talk.

“Do you play an instrument?” Shinji sounds interested, a quiet excitement lurking behind his words.

Kaworu smiles, just a hint bashfully. “I have a piano I play around with, but I’m afraid that’s about it.”

Shinji raises his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth turning slightly, so Kaworu swallows and presses on. “I’ve actually played a few shows. Of course, nothing big, but here and there,” he says, tangling and untangling his fingers in his lap.

“You must be very good. I’d love to hear you play,” Shinji says.

All Kaworu hears is the omission of ‘someday’. He thinks he might choke on the realisation that Shinji is being careful with him as well. But he doesn’t, choosing instead to smile politely. “I’m decent.”

Shinji nods but Kaworu isn’t blind to the way his face falls slightly when the second part of what he'd said goes unaddressed. Kaworu has to bite his tongue; how does he fix this without potentially ruining himself?

He keeps talking. “Actually…Actually, I’m studying to become an accountant. There are some days I don’t enjoy it as much as others but I’m quite skilled at maths and my parents like the security it affords. I didn’t have any better ideas so I thought I might as well give it a shot and…” He’s talking a lot. He clasps his hands together and tries to ignore the way his cheeks are warming.

Shinji’s eyes are wide and he’s smiling softly before his nose crinkles. “I didn’t really see you as the accounting type…”

Kaworu breathes. He can work with this. “Type? People are so tough on accountants, they’re really not so bad.”

Shinji draws his legs up to rest against his torso, leaning his chin on his knees as he looks at Kaworu, cheeks colouring a warm shade of pink. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” He frowns, looking for the words. “I don’t know it just seems like you’d do something different.”

“Like what?” Kaworu asks, regarding him carefully. 

 The pink deepens. “I don’t really know, um…”

They don’t speak again for a while and when Shinji cuts the silence, Kaworu jumps.

“Veterinary,” he mutters.

It takes Kaworu a moment to process what he’s talking about but once he does he gives a short, genuine laugh. Shinji watches him from the side, smiling shyly.

They keep talking, the rhythm stuttering here and there, but always managing to press on. 

~

When Kaworu wakes up, his initial reaction is relief for the lack of nightmares. Or memories. Or the usual mess he deals with when the two meld to create something worse.

As far as his mornings usually go, this one isn’t bad. He knows he’s lying on a sofa, that he’s got a blanket over him, that he can clearly hear birds chirping outside. And he’s all right with that, comfortable. His feet haven’t slipped out from under the blanket.

Unfortunately, as he thinks on those details again, registering them one at a time and then all at once, he finds himself jerking upright, eyes wide. 

Oh.

He can see Shinji at the dining table. He’s in his pyjamas, hair mussed as he clutches a cup of tea. There’s a newspaper sitting to his side, glasses resting atop it.

_Oh no._

Kaworu’s throat runs dry. Of all the ways this could not go to plan, accidentally sleeping over seems to sit pretty high on the list. There are apologies waiting ready on the tip of his tongue before Shinji notices him, smiling softly before speaking and Kaworu feels his voice die.

“Morning.”

Kaworu nods and tries to swallow his nerves. “Good morning…”

For all the lives he’s lived, he’s surprisingly unversed in this kind of situation.

“Thank you very much for…the blanket.” _Terrible._

Shinji smiles at him. It's the ever-present interest pressing in on the back of Kaworu’s mind that has him realising that Shinji is a morning person.

And his apartment is so light, airy; sunlight spills from the windows and warms the floor. The storm is most definitely over. He doesn’t mean to but he’s imagining what it might be like to fit into this space, his breathing falling naturally with the sound of Shinji’s, the ticking of his clock, the creak of floorboards when he walks. Making Shinji tea, reading whatever part of the newspaper faces him as Shinji turns the pages.

He aches with the weight of a life he won’t get to live. And he knows he has to leave. 

~

Shinji takes it well when Kaworu denies breakfast, smoothing down his jeans and moving to pick up his almost forgotten groceries. When they’re both at the door, Shinji hands him his scarf. He hadn’t even realised he’d forgotten it.

As Shinji drives him back to the supermarket parking lot, Kaworu apologises profusely for overstaying. He already feels grimy in yesterday’s clothes, but the guilt is worse, oppressive. Still, when he looks at Shinji he can’t find himself truly regretting taking the opportunity to know him, even if it was only for a night. He has to keep reminding himself that it’s okay; this will all leave Shinji eventually.

Once they get there, Shinji cutting the engine so it dies with a low wheeze, they both pause. The air feels like it’s been sucked away from them and Kaworu’s heart is beating faster with the sense that this is where something, anything has to happen.

But Shinji doesn’t say anything for a while. Instead he smiles softly before taking a deep breath.

“Take care, Kaworu. I-I’m glad we met.”

 _Of all the things he could say._ Kaworu bites his tongue, tries to chase away the lump in his throat. “Me too,” he says. There’s more, there’s so much more but he couldn’t manage any of it if he tried.

His limbs are heavy when he leaves.

Shinji doesn’t drive away until he sees that Kaworu is gone. 

~

The inside of Kaworu’s apartment seems foreign when he gets back _._ Rei doesn’t ask where he’s been, but he can see the question in the subtle lift of her brows. They get by like this, communicating just as well through body language as actual words.

Kaworu shakes his head. “Perhaps later,” he mutters, before dropping his groceries on the kitchen counter and going straight to his room so he can flop face down onto his bed. He hears the whistle of the kettle and the sharp clink of cups. Rei wants him to talk.

And he will. Later.

For now he sighs, closing his eyes and trying not to feel Shinji burn behind his lids. But it’s always been that way and he certainly hasn’t done a thing to deserve a change now. Groaning, he turns over and picks up his scarf, unravelling it so the fabric spreads thin.

His breath hitches. There’s a square of paper, folded neatly in the fabric. He runs his thumb over the creases; trying to quell his nerves, command his heartbeat.

It’s a phone number. Scrawled hastily with a quick note to “please tell me when you reach home!”

And god, he’s giddy, stomach churning, such a mess.  Still, he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He can balance this, he thinks. Doesn’t have to hurt Shinji.

There’s still distance. He can be careful. His fingers haven't stopped trembling, lungs pressing sharp and painful against his ribcage as he enters Shinji's number and begins writing a text. A polite thing that doesn’t let on any of the panic he’s feeling.

He’s been careful for so long.

_This doesn’t have to hurt Shinji._

He breathes deep as he presses send.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY MOLY I NEED TO BE AT SCHOOL


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought this was gonna be fluff but um...more downs than ups, just as a heads up.
> 
> i listened to [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTahziw24eQ&list=PL3AdeOCEkXYmXgNxh0cck_dS0V_bO-A6y) a lot while i was writing!

In the span of two weeks, texting Shinji becomes a regular occurrence. Kaworu never initiates and his heart still thuds heavy and obstructive in his chest when he hears his phone alert and sees Shinji’s name flash across the screen. He still chews himself out over how to reply, deliberates and deliberates; backtracks twice, thrice as he struggles to make his words look light and easy, distant yet warm all at once. Still, he responds every time without fail. His buzzing mind and anxious fingers as he tries to figure out what to say are not nice, but that discomfort pales in comparison to the unsettlement he feels when he imagines Shinji waiting on a reply. Realistically, that’s unlikely but old habits die hard and Kaworu will never be willing to risk the possibility of Shinji speaking to silence.

Shinji makes it seem easy. He sends simple messages that are short and sweet; conversational, Kaworu realises as he blinks down at the newest one. His texts are often about trivial things that Kaworu puts all too much weight in – the busy traffic or his growing coursework, weather warnings and polite questions of how Kaworu’s day is going. And though restraint is a skill that Kaworu has had no choice in learning and somewhere in the span of his existence caution has managed to make a home in his chest, the stinginess with which he replies still feels anything but natural.

But for two weeks Shinji persists. And though he wouldn’t know it, Kaworu holds onto his words; mulls over them at night and tries to imagine how they’d sound in his voice. It’s not ideal, but Kaworu will make do. He’s never let this be about him in the past and he’s not about to start now.

That’s what he’s decided. Stay away. Let Shinji be happy. Take only what will fall into his hands.

For two weeks, for as long as Shinji persists, that works okay. But eventually “good, thank you” and “don’t study too hard” prove not enough and the flow of messages stutters before finally ceasing altogether. And for however inconsequential their communication seemed, Kaworu still feels the loss of it throughout each day. Eventually, Rei stops glancing pointedly at his phone, always held tight in his hand.

It’s jarring when he realises they’ve stopped talking, and the absence of messages through workdays and lunch breaks is more unsettling than anything else. What he doesn’t expect is for that feeling to give way to a whole new onset of nerves, not sharp like he’s used to, but instead laying low and coiling insistently around his gut.

He understands it at night, when he has nothing to distract him from thoughts of Shinji’s face, his apartment, the way morning light had looked on the back of his neck. It has everything to do with the fact that now Shinji is so close, warm and beautiful and right in his reach. And yet here Kaworu is, trying to make them strangers when they’ve never lived without knowing one another before.

He’s grown accustomed to seeing his life in straight lines, passing quicker once he hits the inevitable point that is always Shinji and now that’s right where he is but he’s veered off course and with a widened scope comes a whole new level of fear. He doesn’t need Shinji to live, that much he knows; he’s felt heartbreak a thousand times over but not once has it killed him. No, he doesn’t need Shinji to live but when he’s trying to sleep, stuck imagining a future without him; every night a mirror of these ones and every morning a question of what exactly he might’ve let go, there are so few things he can think of that would terrify him more. It’s when his eyes are shut, when he wants his mind to let him rest, that he wonders to himself, _just how selfless are you really?_ And it’s usually just as he’s falling asleep that he realises he can taste his own breath on his tongue; that it’s too real to deal with for what could possibly be years to come.

And it’s then when Kaworu desperately wishes he could have the same unflinching faith in himself that Shinji has afforded him so many times in the past.

~

Two more weeks later, one month from when they met, and when finally, Kaworu is teaching himself to let go, Shinji tries again and any semblance of progress crumbles as if it took no effort to build. As if Rei’s teacups never started migrating to Kaworu’s bedroom, as if there aren’t certain pieces he can’t bring himself to play on the piano. As if hope is a feeling that he isn’t beginning to forget, dulling in his chest every time he thinks of Shinji.

It can’t be later than 5am when he wakes to three new texts, each one a headier rush to his head than the last.

 _'sorry this is silly but I was clearing out my pantry and I found your noodles. just thought I’d let you know…'_  
  
_'I really do hope you’ll let me cook you a proper dinner'_

_'ah also I’m having a few friends over on friday night and we’re one short now so I was wondering if maybe you’d like to come too?'_

He wonders if he’s still asleep. The messages are still there after he blinks three times. The first thing he can think of is how much he missed this. Shortly followed by how amazing Shinji is; still undoubtedly shy in his own way but so willing to reach out.

This is how people build relationships.

For a moment he is light, an unbidden smile pulling at his lips as he thinks of Shinji thinking of him, hand around a cup of noodles and pondering how exactly to word his message. But dread is never far and so it’s not long before his stomach turns icy, hands clenched at his bed sheets as his eyes widen.

This is Shinji laying himself out.

Just like that, it returns to him fast, nauseatingly vivid. One of the first few timelines; water at his ankles, calves, thighs, calm around his chest. Then Shinji, gasping for breath with his legs kicking desperately under water, heart kicking desperately against Kaworu’s touch. His bare chest pressed to Kaworu’s, his nose in the crook of Kaworu’s neck as he'd cried.

And Kaworu is touch-starved and weary and so, so exhausted as he chokes on air and sees the room washed in green light.

An emerald sunset, the richest colours Kaworu had ever seen. The two of them looking out from inside the ruins of an old room, confined to the walls of a fading, abandoned building. Shinji blinking down at the scars on Kaworu’s arms before looking away and then back again, as if trying to run while standing still. The way he’d licked his lips, parted his mouth for a moment before he started talking. And in that moment Kaworu had held Shinji’s heart; saw it in the bob of his adam’s apple, in the crease between his brows and his gaze, fixed on the floor but still flickering. He’d felt Shinji’s heart in the tremors of his voice, felt it fall from his mouth and hang in the air.

“I’m sorry…I don’t feel that way about you,” Kaworu had said.

A thousand times over, Kaworu has felt heartbreak. A thousand times over, it has not killed him. But the one time Kaworu knowingly, deliberately breaks Shinji’s heart, he does not stick around long enough to see if Shinji survives or not.

For every time Kaworu has lived again, Shinji has as well.

As his breath comes ragged before slowing and deepening, it occurs to him that he doesn’t feel particularly worthy of his lungs’ efforts.

~

When he gets out of bed, dry-eyed and no longer shivering, the sun is beginning to rise and the doors to his and Rei’s tiny balcony are slid open. Hearing his footsteps, Rei peeks out from behind the door, nodding at him to come over. He goes to her, sitting when she scoots over to make room for him in the cramped space. They stay like that for a moment, their legs brushing as the early morning chill breathes into their skin and the sky swirls pale shades of pink and buttery yellow. Eventually, Rei nudges his shoulder, shifting to study him.

 “You’re still upset,” she says, simply.

Kaworu looks straight ahead, following the horizon.

“You won’t talk about it yet, will you?”

This time he turns his head towards her to meet her eyes. Finds quiet concern within her gaze. “Would you like to hear it?” He asks.

Rei shrugs, eyes steady. “If you need someone to listen.”

He mulls that over for a while, before nodding and beginning to speak. “How much do you understand of love?” He can feel her tense before her shoulder begins to slowly relax against his own once more.

“A warm feeling,” she says. “Whatever it is you love, you want to protect. Maybe even more than anything else.”

Kaworu nods. “Yes, I’d say so too. But it can also…it can also be frightening. Sometimes you might lose sight of what would be considered right and wrong and your decisions either slip from what might be best for the one you love or they…or you lose yourself altogether for them.”

“Which are you?” asks Rei.

Kaworu sucks in a breath, he doesn’t answer.

Rei is unfazed by his silence. “You’re in love?”

“Yes.” His answer is immediate, simple and when he looks to Rei his eyes are fierce. “I can’t imagine a possibility of loving anyone but him like this.”

Rei is silent for a moment, processing something before suddenly she speaks. “A month back there was a night you didn’t come home. Were you with him?”  
  
Kaworu nods, leaning his head against Rei’s shoulder and yawning softly. “I shouldn’t have been. I should have let him be.”

“Why is that?”  
  
Kaworu’s voice is heavy as he speaks. “We have a history.” He swallows before speaking again. “He’s different now, brighter and he’s grown so much. I don’t know how to be around him without endangering all he’s built.” And now his words come small, unsure. “I’m not as he knew me either. I don’t know how I could be of any use to him.”

“Use? Are you meant to be of some kind of use in love?”  
  
Kaworu opens his mouth, closes it; realises that for once he’s slightly stumped. “I have nothing to give him.”

Frowning, Rei stares down at the top of Kaworu’s head. “Has this boy been asking you for something?”

“…No.”

“But he has been trying to communicate with you?”

“I’ve never gone to him first,” Kaworu says, voice automatically rising defensively.

Rei’s eyes widen at his tone before hesitantly, she reaches out to pass her fingers through his hair. “It sounds as if you’re making him do a lot of work…”

Kaworu leans into the touch, keeping quiet for a long time. “He invited me to his apartment on Friday night.”

Rei’s hand stills as she presses her cheek to the top of Kaworu’s head. “If he invited you, you should go.”

“I-“

“Perhaps he might want to protect you, too.”

Kaworu’s stomach flutters and he frowns warily. “I can’t imagine that he would.”

“What’s his name?”  
  
“Ikari Shinji.” Kaworu doesn’t mention that she’s known him before.

“Ikari Shinji,” she repeats, testing the sound on her tongue. “You should go. On Friday.”

For once, Kaworu doesn’t think. He and Rei watch the rest of the sunrise in silence.

~

Ultimately, Kaworu calls Shinji by accident. Though he’d intended to call, he doesn’t actually do it until his fingers slip at his phone and he presses the button too early. Before he can back out.

It rings four times before Shinji answers. “Kaworu?” His voice is soft.

Kaworu feels like his throat is constricting, he can’t speak until Rei pats his shoulder before leaving for her room and Shinji repeats his name once more. “Yes, yes s-sorry, it’s Kaworu. I just wanted to ah, I…” He blanks again, panicking as he realises he went into this with absolutely no thought.

“Friday?” Shinji asks, slowly. _Hopefully_ , Kaworu thinks.

“Yes, Friday. Thank you for thinking of me, if it’s really not a bother to you, I’d like to come.”

Kaworu thinks he can hear the smile in Shinji’s voice as he replies. “Of course it’s not a bother.”

Kaworu feels his cheeks heat.

The call doesn’t last long, both of them (Kaworu more so) fumbling through their speech as they try to relay details about time and Shinji’s address and anything else of importance. Shinji’s voice so close to his ear does nothing for Kaworu’s nerves. He’s become so good at ignoring the parts of him that yearn in the dark that whenever he has to actually face Shinji, he feels the weight of it tenfold.

~

On Friday, Rei helps him pick a shirt, gently alerts him to the fact that the lime green jumper is by no means the nicest piece of clothing he owns before graciously combing his hair for him.

At the front door, when she catches him frowning, lip pinched between his teeth, she wraps a navy scarf around his neck and, hands lingering at his shoulders before dropping to her sides, tells him that this is the right thing.  
  
“You’re the type to regret it later. If you didn’t go.”

Kaworu nods and squeezes her hand before he’s out the front door and trying desperately to quell his frantic heartbeat.

~

When he arrives at Shinji’s apartment, surprising himself as he remembers every turn he has to take through the winding hallways of the building, he can hear how quick Shinji’s footsteps are before he opens the door. His greeting smile is so warm that despite the nerves, Kaworu manages to return it. If Shinji notices him hesitating at the doorway, blinking quickly before his eyes are moving everywhere over Shinji at once, he doesn’t say a thing.

It’s funny how he’s gone years without Shinji before, but now a month is enough to wreck him, send him desperate to commit everything about Shinji to memory.

“Thank you for having me,” he says, a touch breathlessly, as Shinji opens the door wider, stepping aside to let him in.

 As he’s toeing off his shoes he can hear a flurry of voices – Shinji’s friends. Automatically, he tries to figure out if he can recognise any of them, wondering if he’s seen any of them die in the past. And then he’s trying to casually steady himself against one of Shinji’s walls so he doesn’t vomit.

When they move past the entryway and into the living area, Kaworu inhales, missing the scent of Shinji’s apartment as he realises how much he’d dulled it in his memory. When he catches himself itching to bury his face against Shinji’s hair or shoulder, anywhere really, he finds he’s beginning to have second thoughts on just how well he can handle being this close to Shinji without making a mess of things. Shinji smiles at him again; how many smiles can he have for Kaworu? Surely not this many.

The sofa has been pushed back and Shinji’s friends are sitting on the floor in a broken circle. He counts four, recognises all but one face – Suzuhara Touji, Aida Kensuke and Horaki Hikari. The fourth is a brunette, hair hanging in two loose pigtails with red-rimmed glasses and eyebrows that seem to quirk upwards in amusement as soon as she sees Kaworu. He’s only ever talked to Hikari in the past, appointed with the role of class rep in every single timeline where he found himself attending school with Shinji.

He knows that Touji has died before.

He hopes they can’t see it on his face, the fear; the fact that he can feel the Earth trembling beneath his feet.

Shinji leads him over, bridging the circle as the two of them sit side by side. Everyone looks to Kaworu, looks to Shinji, looks once more to Kaworu. Hikari and Touji, fingers wound together, both smile at him – Touji baring his teeth in a grin while Hikari is softer, eyes crinkling at the corners. Kensuke is staring blankly, oddly determined as his hand flexes over the phone placed in front of him. And the brunette, the girl Kaworu doesn’t know, still has one eyebrow raised, smirking at his hair.

“Um, guys?” Shinji says, and once more the entire group’s focus shifts to him.

“This is Kaworu…please just, please be polite.” Kaworu smiles at Shinji and then at the group.

Suddenly everyone is speaking at once. Kaworu’s eyes widen, there’s only four of them and yet somehow they manage to make so much noise. All he can pick out is Touji’s indignant squawk of “you’re acting like we’re gonna embarrass you!"

Shinji runs a hand down his face, and Kaworu watches, entranced before Shinji is peeking at him through his fingers so he can send him an apologetic smile.

The noise finally stops and then it’s too quiet until finally, Hikari saves the day, clearing her throat before speaking. “We should introduce ourselves.”  
  
Everyone nods.

“First name basis, guys! It’s quiz night,” Touji says.

Hikari bumps him with her shoulder before speaking again. “I’m Hora—“ Touji pokes her. “Okay, fine, I’m Hikari. It’s very nice to meet you…Kaworu,” she says.

Touji nods and smiles, as if her introduction somehow doubles as his. “Touji,” he says, pointing at himself. “I hope you’re ready to get your ass kicked in the retention of meaningless trivia.”  
  
“I’m Kensuke. Pleased to meet you, Kaworu.”

The girl Kaworu doesn’t know yet inclines her head towards Shinji before she speaks. “Shouldn’t _you_ be introducing us to him?” Shinji blushes a deep red and the girl grins before turning back to Kaworu. “Mari. I’m also here representing my currently sick girlfriend, Asuka.”

She’s got an odd accent that Kaworu can’t quite put his finger on. Her eyes are sharp, perceptive, and Kaworu tries to think harder, feeling that surely he must’ve known her at least once. He jumps when he hears Kensuke’s voice.

“Shouldn’t you be looking after her or something then?” His expression is sour.

“Nah, she insisted I be here so that all of you can give us your money when you lose.” Mari says.

Touji gasps. “Take it back.”

Mari stares him down.

He shrinks slightly before finding his resolve once more. “Forget it, Four-eyes. My money is going nowhere near you.”

Kaworu, eyes still wide as he tries to keep up with everyone finally manages to get a word in. “You’re playing for money?”

Everyone nods, expressions dead serious. Except for Shinji, who leans towards him to breathe out “It’s only 500 yen each, I’m so sorry…I’ll pay your share,” against his ear. Kaworu doesn’t register the words, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight as he shivers.

“O-okay,” he says without the slightest clue of what he’s agreeing to.

~

Touji forgets to bring the trivia questions. Mari digs out an ancient looking pack of UNO cards instead and after explaining the rules to everyone, they begin to play.

Kaworu comes last in six games, before Touji throws his stack to the floor.

“You have to be losing on purpose. This is impossible.”  
  
Kaworu smiles lightly. “No, I’m putting my all into this. What a difficult game!”

Touji is grumbling, shaking his head and looking pityingly at Kaworu before suddenly there’s the click of a camera and a telltale flash right in Kaworu’s face 

Kaworu jumps, dropping his cards before looking wildly around and just managing to catch Kensuke pocketing his phone. It takes barely three seconds of Kaworu doing no more than regarding him curiously for him to hang his head and groan.

“Asuka made me do it, okay!”

Shinji’s got his head in his hands again.

“She demanded to know if Shinji was dating a creep. I had no choice!”  
  
“Kensuke!” Shinji squeaks, blushing again as he looks at Kaworu.

“Snacks,” Touji requests, successfully breaking the tension.  
  
Shinji nods, standing up and stretching before walking towards the kitchen, kneeing Kensuke in the back as he goes.

Kaworu follows.

~

  
The kitchen is wonderfully quiet save for the rattling of cupboards as Shinji reaches for bowls and plates. Sitting on the counter is a mound of junk food. When Shinji catches Kaworu looking at it, he sighs.

“Touji provided food.”

Kaworu laughs softly.

“I’m sorry they’re usually better behaved…okay, not really but I thought they’d behave a little better,” Shinji says, pouring chips into a bowl.

Kaworu shakes his head. “It’s fine, really.” And he means it. Shinji’s friends are certainly lively, perhaps a little overwhelmingly so, but this is infinite times better than any life he’s seen these same people lead. Besides, they’re all quite warm, like Shinji. He thinks they’d make sure to look after one another.

Plus all the noise has meant he’s had barely any room to mope or worry.

“They’re interesting,” Kaworu says.

“Yeah, that’s what you could call it,” Shinji mumbles under his breath. Kaworu can see the fondness in his expression though.

He doesn’t know what else to say. But he doesn’t want to leave. As curious as he may be to know who Shinji spends his time with, moments like these are precious to him. He settles for watching Shinji as he bumps a drawer closed with his hip, fingers fumbling at the plastic wrapping of another one of Touji’s snacks.

“Dinner someday would be nice.” Kaworu doesn’t mean for it to slip out but it does and then Shinji is looking up at him, his cheeks flushed but his expression undeniably pleased and Kaworu feels his stomach lurch.

One timeline where he’d broken Shinji’s heart, water at his ankles, an emerald sunset and Shinji standing still as Kaworu had fled.

The timeline after – The steel bedframe in Shinji’s room, the slide of his mouth against Kaworu’s, and Kaworu hoping desperately that his lips tasted like promise as Shinji had yielded to him. It hadn’t made a difference; he still died.

“Kaworu?” Shinji’s voice is quiet and concerned, reaching out to hold Kaworu’s shaking hands. He said he wouldn’t do it again but this time Kaworu stays put, allows Shinji to rub gentle circles into his palms.

“Are you okay?”

He shakes his head, aching so sharply that he has to fight the urge to claw at his chest. And then Shinji is closer, holding his breath before releasing it into the sound of Kaworu’s name, tightening his grip around Kaworu’s hands.

So many things. There are so many things he wants to say, won’t let himself say. One of these days he thinks he’ll bury himself under the weight of it all.

He gulps, focuses on the mechanics of breathing, tries to ignore the way his eyes are burning before he looks at Shinji, _brown eyes brown eyes his fingers around your wrists._

_Perhaps he might want to protect you too._

“I need to go,” he chokes out.

Shinji doesn’t let go of his hands. Kaworu allows himself to weave his fingers with Shinji’s. Just for a moment. He squeezes before moving his hands away altogether and he can see himself reflected in Shinji’s eyes. He doesn’t know which of them looks more spooked. 

“But you live so far away,” Shinji says, but the words sound distant and Kaworu can’t quite connect them to the way his mouth works.

“Don’t worry.”  
  
And Shinji comes back to him, hardens for a second, brows furrowing. “I’m pretty worried, okay,” his voice is rougher. Frightened. Kaworu can always recognise fear.

“I need to—” Kaworu exhales. “Need to go. I’m sorry—“

He’s stepping away already and Shinji is softening again, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, and looking like he’s going to say something but instead his face falls and he stares down at Kaworu’s shoes.

“Drive carefully…please.”

Kaworu nods and then he’s out, smiling tersely at Shinji’s friends, grabbing his shoes without putting them on and he’s gone.

He still can’t breathe, not even when he’s in his car, head pressed against the coolness of his steering wheel. It takes seventeen minutes for him to stop trembling and then he’s jamming his key in the ignition and trying desperately not to think about a single thing.

~

He feels tiny as he drives. _Dinner._ That was it. That was what sent him careening away. Kaworu thinks of Shinji, warm and beautiful and just as he has always hoped for, leaning against the doorway, smile on his face.

 _Dinner_.

Shinji standing in his own kitchen like it’s a foreign place, watching Kaworu so carefully, so scared.

He keeps reeling Kaworu back to him and Kaworu keeps putting distance between them. It doesn’t matter anymore. Shinji saw him weak and choking on nothing but his memories; still touched him, still asked him to stay when Kaworu knows he shouldn’t.

~

Kaworu gets home to find one new voicemail on his phone. It’s Shinji, voice tense and wavering in places.

“Kaworu, please call me when you get home. You-you weren’t in a good state at all and please just, message or something. I wont bring what happened up if you don’t want me to but you—“ Kaworu hears him blow out a shaky breath. “D-Don’t deal with that stuff on your own, please?”

He listens to it twice more for the sound of Shinji’s voice. By the end his eyes are wet and his gut is twisting and all he can think is that if Shinji were to ever know; if Kaworu was to share every ugly emotion and memory and all of the other baggage he’s hidden somewhere in the confines of his body, it might swallow Shinji whole.

So, what? He lets it swallow himself whole instead?

Sighing, Kaworu rubs his eyes and wishes for sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so there's no shinji in this one and a lot of oc business because kaworu needs a support squad too poor baby. if this isn't really your thing i am sorry the next chapter should be out waaaay faster than this one and if all goes to plan it should be fairly heavy on the kawoshin interaction! eeee okay 
> 
> ALSO SORA IS AGENDER

For the first time Kaworu beats Rei to the balcony. It’s warm this morning, and under a cloudless sky, Kaworu can feel shy sunlight warming the ground under his feet.

When Rei slides the door open the sound is quiet; all of her movements are hushed, so much so that Kaworu has grown completely attuned to them. Her presence hasn’t startled him in a long time but sometimes quiet is daunting. In a creeping kind of way where, if he allows himself to think long enough, he can’t help the suspicion that she has always known he holds enough secrets to count for every line on his palms. But Rei will never ask the questions he can’t handle, that much he is certain of. Perhaps that’s exactly why he always talks.

“It seems as if the rainy season’s over,” he says, smiling weakly at her as she passes him a cup of tea before setting her own on the balcony railing. Kaworu eyes it warily, relieved for an opening to not meet her gaze.

But of course not looking at Rei isn’t the same thing as Rei not looking at him.

“Have the nightmares been bothering you again?” she asks. And sure enough, when Kaworu chances a glance up at her she is steady, unblinking.

Kaworu shakes his head, turns once more to the sun and watches the steam rise from his cup.

“You have bags under your eyes.”

“It’s not so much nightmares as it is not being able to sleep at all,” he admits before sighing and taking a sip of his tea; hissing softly when it scalds his tongue.

Rei isn’t having any trouble at all, her eyes still leveled on him as she takes a measured sip from her own mug.

Beneath them, Tokyo is beginning to wake; bird song fading out as children in neatly pressed uniforms steer their bikes down the street and cars chug past them. Kaworu yawns and Rei nudges his foot with her own.

“You don’t have classes today. You should try to sleep.”

“I have to work in the afternoon. Besides, I don’t think I’d have much luck.”

Rei nods, allowing them to fall into a comfortable silence. This time, Kaworu blows at his tea before he sips and it’s with the type of affection that warms and stings at the same time that he realises Rei has added extra sugar. Sighing, he sets his mug down and looks at her.

“It’s because of yesterday night. Things didn’t quite go as we thought they would.”

Rei’s brows furrow. “Did Ikari do something wrong?” Her voice is still soft but Kaworu can trace the almost imperceptible shift that makes it grow icy.

He shivers. “No, no of course not. Shinji was wonderful I just—“ He has to look away for a moment, heart seeming to lodge in his throat, frustrated as his lip trembles under the pinch of his teeth and he has to raise a hand to hastily wipe at his burning eyes. Instantly, Rei’s fingertips are at his forearm; he notices her shift from one foot to another before hesitantly, she leans her head against his shoulder.

“I’m not asking you to tell me,” she says.

Kaworu chokes out a short laugh. “I don’t mean to be like this.”

Rei doesn’t answer, but her touch grows firm as she squeezes his arm. He breathes out slow through his teeth before he can swallow, steeling himself to speak again. 

“I met his friends and I was more or less okay but then we were alone and something happened…” He pauses, Rei watching carefully as he frowns. “I had to leave. I think I frightened him, it wasn’t…it wasn’t good. At all.” Idly, he drums his fingers against the railing. “To be honest, I frightened myself.” Rei winces at that but he continues. “There are certain things that are too fresh with him, I feel as if I’ve forgotten how to exist when we’re around one another.”

They’re both tense until Kaworu draws his fingers away and the disturbed coating of dust forces him to sneeze. Rei seems to find her voice at the sound.

“Bless you,” she says, shifting so she’s standing straight before speaking again. “Is he okay for you?”

Kaworu shakes his head, smiling a little sadly and the swiftness of his own response registers as something akin to loss in his gut. “It doesn’t matter.”

But Rei is sharp when she answers, and eyes widening, Kaworu can’t find it in him to protest.

“It does matter. Whatever it was that happened, he’s here now. Is he not?”

Kaworu looks at her and for the first time, he wants to shrink. His skin has always been thin. Shinji had once mulled over how easily he bruised, purple blooming over the taut skin of his elbow after he’d knocked it against Shinji’s desk and now, in front of Rei, that’s all he can think about. He wonders how much she sees when she looks at him, how much exactly she deserves to understand and finally, just how many things he might have already told her without realising. 

Rei swallows down the rest of her tea, leans across him to take his cold, half full mug and after staring at him thoughtfully for an instant, she leaves.

~

 He’s distracted at work. Usually, as soon as Kaworu steps inside Beat Records, it’s natural for him to fall right into easy professionalism, smile as smooth as his well-ironed work shirt. His boss, Yoshida Eiji, is a spritely old man with a kind face, a penchant for jazz, and the toughest resolve Kaworu has ever known. He’s sweet most of the time, fussing over his employees and the contents of his tucked away store, but Kaworu has seen him deal records, knows that the glint in his eye can turn from genial to commanding in a split second.

“Nagisa!”

The sheer amount of distance his voice crosses never fails to surprise Kaworu either.

He’s about to clear away the horde of records sprawled across his lap so he can go to his boss when he hears the heave of approaching footsteps and decides to stay put. Sure enough, Yoshida is soon standing in the doorway, coughing into a purple handkerchief before grinning at Kaworu.

“What are you doing locked away in the storage room? You need natural light, son. And there’s none of that in here.”

Kaworu takes a record from his left, dusting it off on his trousers before looking back up at Yoshida. “That’s a wonderful choice of tie today, boss. Is that wool? I wasn’t aware you could buy woolen ties,” he manages with a tiny smile and though it does feel more genuine than anything he could muster earlier, his heart still isn’t quite in it.

Yoshida grunts in the affirmative, running a wrinkled hand over the garment in question – green and herringbone and managing to clash wonderfully with his tartan jacket. “Grandkid got it for me. It’s a keeper, isn’t it?”

“Ah, all of your best ones seem to come from Sora, don’t they?”

“Oh yeah, they sure are a gifted kid, alright. I find records. Sora finds ties. Good genes, it’s all in the genes. The Yoshida clan are all good at finding something,” Yoshida’s smile is fond, crow’s feet deepening before he’s clearing his throat and speaking again. “Anyway, what’re you doing all cooped up in here? The sun hasn’t been out in weeks. At least enjoy it through the windows.”

“Alphabetising,” Kaworu says, smoothing down the frayed edge of an old Yellow Magic Orchestra record. “We’ve got crate upon crate completely full here. Still haven’t gotten around to actually stocking them.”

Yoshida huffs, waving a hand and smiling at Kaworu. “They’ve waited this long, I’m sure another day wont hurt,” he says, gaze shifting almost apologetically to the stack sitting next to Kaworu. “Come on, Nagisa. It’s slow. Keep this old man company.”

When Kaworu makes no move to get up, instead blinking conflictedly from the records to the door; Yoshida sighs and clambers towards him. He takes a while to lean down, knees creaking as he drops to sit across from Kaworu on the floor.

“You’re good, Nagisa. My family panics everytime my joints crack. It’s terrible, I keep telling them I’m only 83 but arthritis-this, arthritis-that. Bunch of babies.” Yoshida scowls, reaching over to pick up the records Kaworu has already ordered. “Y’know I fell off my motorbike a while back. Broke a leg and fractured three ribs…”

Kaworu has heard the story, but he doesn’t mind listening again so he lets Yoshida talk. He speaks with his hands, waving them this way and that so at one moment Kaworu can see his palms -- spanning wide with lines that run dark and deep and at another, he can see the backs -- skin riddled with creases and age spots; loosening around his knuckles.

Kaworu has wondered before, and now he’s wondering again, how exactly -- if at all -- might Yoshida Eiji have lived all the times they didn’t know one another. Try as he might, Kaworu can’t fit him into the scope of his memories. He’d marveled before this life, at the way humans managed to salvage what they could from second impact and rebuild everything on a planet turned inside out. How much did they realise their world was missing? This old, smoothed Earth that keeps stretching and stretching with no great stops, with bustling cities and plants that Kaworu had only ever known by scientific name and faded images in old books; where angels are strange, white women with flowing hair and halos. There are _entire cities_ that were swept and lost by the ocean, yet here they stand tall, unsuspecting.

And that is what spooks Kaworu the most. One thing that had frustrated, amused and, more often than not, saddened him, was mankind’s lack of regard for the fleeting nature of happiness. Their dismissal of their own feelings, their preoccupation with fear.

But now, now he understands. He has devoted himself to gathering flickers, remnants, scraps of happiness, so he can present them to Shinji as hope. He has always known that happiness is fleeting and yet he has tried so hard to make it his very existence in the form of gentle hands, softer smiles. And in the long run, has he ever done Shinji more good than harm? A boy who took Kaworu because he thought there was nothing left for him to lose – who learned otherwise only when it was too late.

Twenty-one years is so long and nowhere near long enough when he has felt the air of so many timelines whip right past him.

And now he’s not used to this guilt. He’s rehearsed his death countless times in his head, imagined how exactly he might make it hurt less _this_ time ( _the last time_ ) and yet not once has he felt guilt strike him as it does these days.

He’s frowning when he realises that Yoshida is calling his name. “Nagisa? Hey, kid. Kaworu. You okay?”

Startled, Kaworu shakes his head. “S-sorry, boss.”

Yoshida surveys him, brows raised. “Are you alright? Do you need to take the day off?”

Kaworu waves a hand dismissively; smiling in what he hopes is a very normal manner. Except the action makes him sneeze again and when he looks back up, he can feel that his eyes are watering.

Yoshida jumps, raising a hand to his chest at the sound before calming and reaching over to pat Kaworu’s shoulder a little too forcefully. “The rainy season is over and you’re catching a cold!” He says, clicking his tongue. “You look even paler than usual. Go home, I’ll pay you, don’t worry.”

Kaworu is quick to shake his head. “No, no! You can’t do all the work yourself.”

Yoshida narrows his eyes in a stern glare before flicking Kaworu in the shoulder. “Go home. Go to a park. Do something or you’ll pass me that cold and the kids will try to rush me into the nearest hospital.”

Kaworu sighs, knowing he’s got no say in the matter. “At least let me finish sorting out this crate,” he says. He hopes dearly that he looks sufficiently pleading because he’s not so sure he wants to be alone with his thoughts right now.

Yoshida acquiesces on the condition that Kaworu lets him help. So they split the records and start sorting, the low hum of the music playing from the shop interspersed with fits of conversation and the occasional booming laugh courtesy of Yoshida.

Kaworu has just finished sorting out the ‘z’s’ and is beginning to haul himself off the ground when Yoshida promptly pushes him right back down, one finger pressed to his mouth.

“Shhh!”

Kaworu cocks his head to the side and raises one eyebrow in question. Yoshida looks at him distractedly before turning his gaze to the door and then back at Kaworu.

“Do you hear that?” He whispers and he’s got that glint in his eye that makes Kaworu know he’s referring to the music.

Kaworu frowns as he tries to focus on the sound, it takes a moment before he softens and manages a light smile, recognising the singing voice as one that Yoshida plays quite frequently. “Ella Fitzgerald?”

Yoshida nods, sighing dreamily and slowly drawing his hand away from Kaworu’s shoulder. " _Blue Moon_. My absolute favourite song of hers.”

Kaworu lets out a quiet hum in response, inclining his head towards the direction of the music and listening to the silky lilt of Ella Fitzgerald’s voice. He likes what he’s heard of her music and he thinks this song is especially nice. He’s not paying attention to the lyrics, the English sailing right over his head, but with the way her gentle croon kind of dazes him, he thinks the words must be meaningful.

As the song fades out, Yoshida gets to his feet, a serene smile on his face as he offers a hand to Kaworu. “There’s a lot you can learn from Ms Fitzgerald,” he says.

“Mmm, her voice is certainly something.” 

~

When they make it back out to the shop, spotting the vague form of another person against the shop counter, they rush over, apologies already spilling as Yoshida flaps his arms.

“Sorry! Did you ring the bell? Sorry ag--Sora!“

Sure enough, they’re greeted by none other than Sora, long-legged and messy haired as always. They turn towards the two, grinning in a way that would remove any shadow of doubt about their relation to Yoshida.

“Grandpa,” Sora nods, before straightening from the counter and leaning down to wrap Yoshida in a hug.

They shoot a quick wink at Kaworu from over Yoshida’s head, nose wrinkling as they smile warmly and Kaworu finds his own lips twitching upwards at the sight. Yoshida is grumbling something into Sora’s shoulder, unceasing even as they duck to press a quick kiss to his forehead before releasing him altogether.

“You’re wearing the tie,” they say, eyes crinkling as they survey their grandpa.

“Of course I’m wearing the tie! The best grandchild in the entire world did give it to me, after all,” Yoshida replies, elbowing Sora in the stomach.

Kaworu winces; that can’t have been particularly comfortable. “How are you, Sora?” He asks, reaching for his bag from behind the counter.

“Very well, thank you. I was just in the area, so I thought I’d drop by.”

Yoshida beams at Sora. “Did your mother send you out to go to that overpriced grocery store down the street?”

Sora sighs. “Yeah, her friend told her that the leeks were better there and now she’s convinced.”

“Could you take Nagisa out with you?” Yoshida says, slapping Kaworu’s back. “Take him to the pharmacy and make sure he wears sunscreen.”

~

After establishing that no, Kaworu does not need to go to the pharmacy; at Sora’s suggestion they decide to get coffee, opting for takeaway and sitting together at a nearby park. Sora is quiet but Kaworu has always felt at ease with them. He thinks that they’re the type of person other people would try very hard to impress -- statuesque, eyes always trained ahead and a voice that comes steady around words that are always to the point.

“Grandpa told me you seemed a little off today,” they say.

“I think I’m just coming down with a cold. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Sora taps twice on the lid of their coffee, giving Kaworu a pointed look. They look deep in thought for a moment, squinting slightly before taking a sip and speaking. “He said he thought it might be something else as well.”

Kaworu makes sure to keep his stare as impassive as possible. A tiny part of him is tempted to tell Sora that it’s none of their business but that would be rude and he’s learnt that people only worry more when you give them nothing. So he bites and hopes this conversation doesn’t move on to shakier ground. “I just haven’t been having the nicest of times lately.”

Immediately, Sora looks sympathetic. “Do you need me to ask grandpa to give you less hours? More hours? What’s got you down?”

Kaworu doesn’t think quickly enough, and his brief silence as well as the furrowing of his eyebrows, are enough for Sora to latch onto. “Oh,” they say. When Kaworu looks at them, they’re pursing their lips. “It’s not work, is it?”

Kaworu smiles weakly, shaking his head as Sora downs the last of their coffee before turning back to Kaworu.

“Is it a person?”

They take Kaworu’s soft hum as approval. “Isn’t it always,” they mutter. “Have they been giving you trouble?”

“No, nothing like that. They’re doing everything right, to be honest.”

Sora quirks an eyebrow. “Are you just not feeling it?”

“It?”

Sora seems to grapple for words for a moment. “It, as in being with them. Everything is good but you still don’t feel much for being with them.”

Kaworu almost laughs at that, he can’t even imagine thinking of Shinji and feeling nothing, he has accepted the ache as unavoidable. “No, I’d say ‘I’m feeling it.’”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“There isn’t one,” he says and his voice comes short.

It seems to bounce right off Sora though, who is narrowing their eyes at Kaworu now, gaze oddly steely. “You don’t--“ They hesitate. “You don’t want them to not be good, do you?”

Kaworu feels queasy, stomach churning. “That’s terrible,” he manages, and the words are so tiny he wonders how he’d even pushed them out. He’s seen Shinji when he’s ‘not good’, and though he’s wanted so badly to smooth away Shinji’s pain, not once has he fallen in love because of it. “I want him to be happy.” The resolve in his voice is oddly comforting.

“Then what’s the problem?” Sora repeats.

Kaworu fidgets. “He doesn’t need me to be happy.” He feels pathetic as he says it.

Sora looks completely bewildered. “That’s ridiculous.” They run a hand down their face, exasperated, before levelling Kaworu with a glare stern enough to rival Yoshida’s. “People don’t have…they don’t have like a…a happiness quota or something.”

They have a point. But Kaworu doesn’t tell them that they’re missing what he’s not trying to say. He is the only one here who has known a world where entire cities have been wiped off the map. And now there’s nothing left to heal, yet he could crush Shinji – watch him fall and fold and crumble. What does he make of that?

Sora disposes of both empty cups, sighing as they extend a hand to Kaworu. 

“I think he’d be lucky to have you,” they say.

Kaworu smiles ruefully and stays half a step behind Sora while they walk him back to his car.

But before they leave him, they say one more thing.

“Y’know, if it feels unnatural to be resisting something, chances are you’re supposed to do it.”

They pat him on the back and then they’re gone.

Kaworu drives home, oddly exhausted and with _Blue Moon_ stuck in his head.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh my goodness, i'm so sorry this chapter was supposed to come out fast it's been months and i've been all over the place with school sORRY. this chapter is basically all shinji though! so that's nice, right? i'm sorry aaah
> 
> also please listen to [this wonderful mix](http://8tracks.com/phollie/i-missed-you-for-29-years) made by [phollie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/larouille/pseuds/phollie)because it's perfect and it makes me cry over my own fic...which is pretty embarrassing but also a testament to their mix making abilities (listen to all of their mixes, please).

When Yoshida calls in to ask where exactly the window cleaning solution was left and, upon hearing Kaworu’s voice, immediately demands he takes the next few days off, Kaworu can’t help but feel relieved. It’s mid-summer and sure enough, he’s suffering one of the worst colds he’s had in years. Rei does her best to look after him, swapping tea with extra sugar for lemon and honey, and making sure to check his temperature every three hours or so. Kaworu tries to remember to thank her despite, more often than not, allowing the cups to go cold as he tries to sleep off his sniffles.

This time, when Rei lets herself into his room, she’s not just holding a mug. In her other hand is Kaworu’s phone, held lightly as it buzzes in her palm. Initially, Kaworu expects it to be Yoshida calling but with the terse look on Rei’s face as, wordlessly, she places it on the bedside table besides him, Kaworu knows this can’t just be his boss checking in on him. Rei’s hand seems to linger at the phone for a moment before she draws it away, lips pursed. Kaworu wonders how she manages to look like she’s weighing every reaction he hasn’t yet given.

But ultimately, he thinks Rei has no idea. When he finally checks the caller ID, seeing of course Shinji’s name, her gaze is heavy on him. All he really manages is some kind of pathetic half-squeak as he pales even further. Rei moves towards him, brows furrowed now and she’s about to say something but Kaworu is pressing the accept button before even attempting to let the tightness of his chest loosen enough for him to exhale.

He chokes on his “hello”, launching into a fit of coughs instead. His throat feels scraped raw and ready to give up on him when, thoughts scrambled, he croaks out something unintelligible that loses its way between a greeting and Shinji’s name. However strong the urge is, Kaworu doesn’t drop his phone to knock himself in the head. Instead, he holds it tightly to his ear as Rei sits gingerly down on the edge of his bed. She’s got one hand in her lap as the other hangs awkwardly in the air, cautiously outstretched and ready to be withdrawn.

Kaworu takes it thankfully, tangling their fingers and managing to draw some strength from the gesture.

He can hear Shinji swallow before he speaks. “Are you alright?” He sounds alarmed.

All Kaworu can do is close his eyes as he leans into the phone and tries to think of anything but the way Shinji had looked the last time they saw each other.

“No more than a cold,” he says, even as he tries to trap a cough in his chest, spluttering gracelessly in the process.

“Oh, me too…” Shinji breathes out a slightly nervous sounding laugh before continuing. “And in the middle of summer of all times.”  Sure enough, his voice does sound thicker, clogged in a way Kaworu has never heard it before.

Neither of them speak for a moment that stretches tense and uncomfortable as Kaworu tries to figure out just what Shinji is calling to talk about; lay down limits as to how much he might say accordingly. Finally, Shinji clears his throat, sniffling once before speaking.

“Um, actually, I just called because—“

Kaworu sneezes so hard he swears he feels his brain shift in his skull, effectively cutting Shinji off and startling Rei enough for her to jolt up; back straightening as her hand slips right out of Kaworu's grasp.

“Sorry,” he says weakly, just as Shinji is backtracking, words coming quickly as he apologises as well.

“This is probably a bad time. I’m sorry, I-I’ll call back another day. You should res—“

It’s awful to be on the receiving end, to be the cause of the tremors in Shinji’s voice. Kaworu doesn’t want him to be nervous, hates to hear him so unsure of himself. Temples throbbing with the beginnings of a headache, he raises a hand to his forehead and closes his eyes for a moment. He’s risky like this, when his shoulders are tight and he can’t decide if he wants to confess or retreat. And it frightens him; this neglected part of him that wants to test Shinji, to get it over with and cut short whatever is starting between them. He wants the long, uncomfortable silence that might follow if he were to stop grinding his teeth and speak. Still, the thought of either of those options makes him feel more ashamed than anything else. So he sighs like guilt is something one can breathe out and apologises instead.

“I’m sorry,” he says and when Shinji is silent on the other end of the line he feels the need to add, “For worrying you before, I mean."

"I wish you wouldn't apologise."  Shinji's voice is small, Kaworu wishes it were the fault of bad phone reception but he knows better.

He’s lost for what to say, so he takes a moment; licks his lips and tries to gather his words.

"Why?" It’s all he can settle on. He's not supposed to push like this but it's too late anyway

"It just doesn't seem fair on you..."

Kaworu is silent now, mouth working over words that won't come until Shinji speaks again.

"I really was worried though." Shinji pauses, he’s quiet when he speaks again. "I don't know if you got it but um...I left you a voicemail. I was kind of hoping you might give me a word or two as to how you were do— Oh god, I don't mean...I didn't expect it of you or anything..." He makes a frustrated noise. "This isn't what I'm trying to say, sorry um..." 

Kaworu bites the inside of his cheek, fingers twisting in his sheets and he doesn't feel the tension ease until he spots Rei's fingers gliding across the new creases in the fabric and he remembers himself, remembers to breathe.

"I received the voicemail. I'm sorry for not responding. I didn't want you to worr--"

"No, what I'm trying to get at here is that it's not really about me worrying. You just kind of shut down, it was...I had to at least check, you know?"

"Yeah...I know." Kaworu manages even though right now he knows little more than his being here and Shinji being worried and the extent to which he's messed up. Again. How could he have been so reckless? Encouraging this soft-swelling concern that gives him too much of a chance; makes his lungs taut and his fingers twitch for touch that would be so close if he'd only give up and seek it.

"Uh so yeah, are you okay?"

Kaworu sneezes again. He's never been so grateful to be sick in his life.

"Oh god, your cold...I-I should let you go. Sorry again."

Kaworu manages to wheeze out a chuckle but it rings stale in a way that makes him wince and lean the slightest bit away from his phone. "We keep apologising to each other."

"Yeah, this didn't really go to plan."

The silence this time is not tense, instead it just feels sad – heavy in a way that lends the impression that this conversation hasn't yet run its course. Kaworu dislikes it enough to clear his throat softly.

"Ah, you never got to say what you meant to call for," he ventures.

"Oh! Right no, um, actually—" Shinji huffs out a sheepish chuckle before continuing. "I just wanted to let you know that I've still got your noodles with me."

Kaworu is just about to tell him that he can keep the noodles when Shinji coughs. "I thought maybe I'd ask if I could return them?"

Timid and unsure as the words are, Kaworu wonders if Shinji could even begin to imagine the effect he has on Kaworu's heart rate.

"That sounds like an awful lot of trouble for you..." He keeps his words careful, no undercurrent of "yes" or "no".

"It's not. I just thought it would be a waste of money and what if you need food one day but the shops are already closed?" Shinji says, just as cautious.

Kaworu has enough experience by now to know that people don't bother returning cheap, cup noodles when they live an hour away.  And when he’s still unresponsive; eyes downcast as he pinches his lip between his teeth, Shinji sighs.

"Could you just go with it? The noodles, I mean. Please."

Kaworu rethinks cup noodles and the social norms pertaining to them. Perhaps people do drive an hour to return them when they double as a navigator for something else. And if Shinji can find some sense of self-preservation within them, Kaworu decides he can acquiesce. Playing along might benefit them both. “Okay,” he says.

“Thank you,” Shinji murmurs, sincere and a little relieved. “So, would you like them back or would you prefer I kept them?”

And this is all too ridiculous; Kaworu can’t do it. This conversation isn’t a foreign road. A cup of noodles cannot be a GPS. And of course, Kaworu still can’t find it in himself to reject Shinji.  
  
He raises his hand to knead at his temples again. “If you want to, you should come. I’ll text you my address.”

He can hear Shinji’s breath leave him softly.

~

Leaving his bed feels like climbing into a coffin. Though really, he wouldn't know what that feels like at all, having only climbed out of them in the past. The thought catches him entirely off guard. He doesn’t expect the way it makes his head rush. He stumbles on the spot, remembers steel opening above him. Air more still than he’d ever thought it could be.

This is a new one. He doesn't like it at all.

Rei finds him shivering, lays a palm to his shoulder and presses her forehead to his and tells him as firm as she can manage, "You are here."

When Kaworu softens, swallowing thickly and finding her eyes with his, she passes him detergent and a sponge. "If you do the dishes, I can tidy the living area,” she says after a moment.

"Thank you," Kaworu says. And then they part ways.

~

Half an hour passes and the apartment looks moderately clean considering both Rei and Kaworu are people that generally pay no heed to mess. 

"You should shower," Rei says. She doesn’t look up, just shuts a drawer that she's no doubt just shoved an armful of clutter into.

Kaworu sniffs his shirt and silently agrees with her. Being sick and avoidant of his problems has meant a groove in his bed and a decline in his personal hygiene.

His cheeks are flushed as he moves sluggishly towards the bathroom; he doesn’t think the scent of Shinji’s laundry detergent will ever leave his mind.

~

He hadn’t even thought to worry, but once he’s alone in the bathroom he finds himself shaking again. It takes all his strength not to dwell on the coffin he'd remembered earlier. He showers as fast as possible, irrationally afraid that he will touch his toes to the wood flooring outside the bathroom only to find empty space.

He keeps his eyes shut until he turns the faucet off, breath coming shallow when he imagines the water streaming red.

~

His shoulders loosen once he’s out, in fresh clothes and toweling his hair as he makes his way to the living room. The peace doesn’t last long though; he soon finds himself stopping in his tracks, eyes widening when he sees that Shinji is already here. He’s sitting in an armchair with his hands in his lap, opposite to Rei and smiling politely even while Kaworu can clearly see he’s nervous – running the thumb of one hand over his other as he asks Rei how she’s managed to not get sick.

“She has an excellent immune system,” Kaworu says, feeling disconnected from his voice and more numb than skittish as he watches Shinji jump, rising to stand, as his eyes dart to seek Kaworu. When he finds him, he raises a shaky hand to pass through his hair, unaware that he’s just created a cowlick that makes Kaworu gulp and avert his eyes as he imagines it smoothed down under his fingertips. 

They’d taken forty-five minutes to clean the apartment and now that seems completely unnecessary as it occurs to Kaworu that more than anything, he’d needed time to prepare himself. His nerves are on a slow boil as he thinks to himself that even a brief pep talk might have done to stave off some of his unease.

Then again, maybe not. Shinji’s smile is hesitant, undeniably happy but with a shaky quality to the upturn of his lips, as if it shouldn’t be allowed. And Kaworu doesn’t know where to focus; looking at Shinji makes his palms sweat, turns distance and time into an oppressive thing that leaves him tongue tied and insecure. Looking away just takes too much self-control.

He gives a perfunctory nod, keeping his mouth clamped shut.

Shinji is still watching him, smile growing more apprehensive than anything else as he shifts his weight, blinking his gaze away and back almost expectantly.

Kaworu understands why people want to hide under sofas, fold themselves into the floor. His stomach is in knots and he wants nothing more than to kick himself because this really shouldn’t be so difficult.

“Shinji,” he finally manages around a mouthful of nerves. And  _somehow_ it’s enough; Shinji seems to deflate, already looking slightly more comfortable. It does wonders as Kaworu relaxes somewhat as well. “Sorry for making you wait, I was showering.” He gestures to the towel still on his head and tries for a smile; hopes it doesn’t look more like a grimace.

Shinji’s ears go bright red before the colour spreads to his cheeks and Kaworu wonders if blushing is contagious because he can feel his own face warming.

“S’okay,” Shinji mutters, coughing into his fist before speaking again. “I haven't been here long. Besides, Ayanami looked after me,” he says, looking to Rei gratefully.

When both Rei and Kaworu stay silent, Shinji raises a hand to rub at his neck as he looks briefly to the door and it occurs to Kaworu that he wants to leave now. And again, Kaworu wants to kick himself because Yoshida humming  _blue moon_  and the way he’d felt shivering on the shower stool, his trembling hands at his hair – he loses his grip on all of it. He wants little more than to stop worrying, to be completely present and unafraid and not have to consider bruised earth and black holes and the  _worst_ kind of guilt if he were to melt the ice in his throat and tell Shinji to stay.

“Actually, I brought ochazuke. I hope you don’t mind, but I had some leftover chicken so I used that. I just thought that it’s been good for me and seeing as you were sick as well it might be nice,” Shinji says, gesturing towards a large thermal container sat on the coffee table. Kaworu has to bite his tongue to ignore the way it feels like his heart has just stopped.

Shinji has already shifted so he’s almost facing the door when he speaks again, this time looking at Rei and smiling kindly. “Ayanami, there’s more than enough so I hope you try it too.”

It looks like he’s about to shuffle right out until Rei stands. “I don’t eat meat.”  
  
Shinji turns red again, wringing his hands as he flounders. “Sorry, I-I should have checked,” he says.

Rei only tilts her head to the side, seemingly impassive. “But you brought it for Kaworu, not for me.” Her voice lends the impression that she’s not trying to find him an excuse, but rather stating a fact.

Shinji’s lips part and when a moment passes and nothing comes, Rei speaks once more.

“I’ll be leaving now,” she says, her gaze falling from Shinji.

He drops his hands to his side, visibly alarmed and breathing out a hasty, “It was nice to meet you, Ayanami.”  
  
She doesn’t quite respond, but when she catches Kaworu’s eye the slight nod of her head makes him remember the stillness of her voice around  _perhaps he might want to protect you too._ He wishes he could hold her hands, just once, before she leaves them.

And then it’s only him and Shinji and thick silence as Shinji fidgets, looking an awful lot like he’s not sure if he should stay or go.

Kaworu takes pity, maybe more so on himself than on Shinji.  So he steels himself and tries to bury his sorry thoughts, if only for a moment.

When he asks Shinji if he’s eaten yet, the way Shinji looks at him is cautious, appraising. Kaworu is resolute on not giving anything away.

And when Shinji shakes his head in the negative, reaches for the container and turns his back to the door; Kaworu cannot help the shaky moth-wing flutter of his heart, the feeble smile that follows.

~

  
Shinji seems to be trying hard to hide his confusion when he finds that Kaworu and Rei don’t actually own a dining table. He manages well, save for a slightly raised brow. As Kaworu places their heaped bowls on the coffee table, he offers a “Rei and I are very fond of minimalism,” by means of explanation. And for a moment, he forgets to be grateful for anything that exists outside of Shinji’s breezy laugh.

~

  
He decides he can expand those horizons when the ochazuke hits his tongue and his stomach rumbles like he hasn’t eaten in days. Shinji’s smile is pleased, if a little amused, as Kaworu promptly ignores every thought about good manners and all but shovels the food into his mouth.

By the time they’ve both finished and Shinji is reaching out to take both of their empty bowls, Kaworu seems to be melting back into the sofa.

“Please, don’t worry about them now,” he says with a nod to the dishes. Shinji furrows his brows for a moment but accedes, leaning slightly back.

Kaworu’s got his knees drawn up to his chest and he can feel his eyelids slipping. He’s so blissfully full and the soreness of his throat seems to be easing. He comes dangerously close to resting his head on Shinji’s shoulder, but even now his judgment won’t leave him entirely. When he catches himself, he doesn’t quite move away from Shinji, but he feels himself tense like it’ll minimise the space he’s taking up.

Shinji looks at Kaworu, curled up and yawning softly. Hesitantly, he takes the cushion to his side, resting his chin atop it as he hugs it to his chest and Kaworu smiles at the sight.

They’re sitting so close, even with the conscious effort they both seem to be making not to accidentally touch each other. And despite the weird mix of haze and jitters, Kaworu would call it comfortable.

It’s quiet for a while, and Kaworu is almost-but-not-quite dozing when he notices that Shinji’s nose is a touch red from his cold. He seems to have already suffered the worst of it and Kaworu panics for a moment about whether or not he might get sick again.  He’s about to either ask Shinji if he’ll be alright, or hop straight to the other side of the couch when Shinji yawns, torso elongated as he stretches and looks to Kaworu with bleary eyes. 

“I should get going before I fall asleep,” he says.

He looks sad enough to say it that Kaworu forgets about everything, wishes only to have him here for at least a little longer. And of the few things Kaworu knows for certain, he knows that expectations are what will choke them both. Shinji is safe and happy and if ever again, he has to shoulder pain for Kaworu, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forgive himself. Regardless of whether or not he ends up successful in upholding some measure of distance; he has to believe it, has to tell himself that what he gets now will be everything.

The words rush from Kaworu as he speaks and he wonders if he sounds as desperate as he feels. “The ochazuke was the best meal I've had in a long time,” he says, because he means it and it’s the first thing that comes to mind that isn’t blatant and needy and anywhere near the word  _stay._

It works; Shinji settles slightly, turning to Kaworu to fix him with a bashful smile. “I think you might’ve said something similar about the noodles we ate together. Honestly, I kind of think you could do to higher your standards.”

Kaworu’s exhale is deep and measured, coming soft with the slow sinking of his shoulders. “You’re being too modest,” he says. “Though the noodles truly were delicious, this is something else altogether.”  
  
It’s much too endearing when Shinji brings both hands to his flushed face, his knuckles touching the edges of his shy, smiling mouth. “It’s just ochazuke!”

Kaworu only shakes his head in response. Shinji breathes out a hushed whisper of a laugh at the sight and Kaworu wants to trace the sound on Shinji’s lips, wonders if it would feel similar to holding his fingers up to a breeze.

Which he remembers is decidedly inappropriate as Shinji stretches once again. He’s sprawled out a little more now, his knee just barely brushing Kaworu’s when he speaks. “It’s all I’ve had the energy to make lately, what with being sick and having to start getting ready for finals.” Sure enough, he does sound quite weary. Suddenly, his eyes widen as if remembering something and he leans slightly towards Kaworu. “Finals must be coming up for you as well, right?”

Kaworu nods, not feeling much of anything at the words. Exams don’t frighten him; he’s managed to cruise through his education relatively easy up till now.

Shinji’s eyes are still wide but now his mouth is downturned in what Kaworu thinks is disbelief. “You’re not…you’re not nervous at all?”

“Not particularly. I know my classes and I have my notes. Stressing seems like it would be counterproductive.”

Shinji raises a brow. “I wish I could be that rational.” He seems to brighten after a moment, grinning as he looks back up at Kaworu. “Touji was the worst in high school. He’d get so antsy trying to study, he’d end up trying to memorise his notes by shouting them to himself while he ran laps.” He chuckles softly before adding, “Insisted he was a ‘bodily-kinesthetic’ learner. We never told him that he might be taking it a little too literally.”

“Did it help?” Kaworu asks, genuinely curious now and warming easily to Shinji’s smile.

Shinji shakes his head fondly. “He’d pass out as soon as he got home most times. But I guess he did beat the majority of his tests.”

Kaworu counters that with a smile of his own. “So you’ve known Suzuhara for a while?”

“Yeah, he and Kensuke were the first friends I made when I moved to Tokyo for high school. And Touji was the first person to talk to me on my first day.”  
  
Kaworu tilts his head to the side, gesturing for Shinji to continue.

Shinji looks warmer still, reflective as his smile softens. “We were partnered for a woodwork class. I had no idea what I was doing and he was really nice about it. At lunch, he sat with me and ate all my food.” He laughs now, eyelids lowering slightly and the fan of his eyelashes has Kaworu breathless before he adds:  “I had a crush on him until like, early third year. It was so embarrassing.”

Kaworu wishes nothing but the greatest peace for Suzuhara Touji. And the normalcy of this, the fond look on Shinji’s face – it forces Kaworu’s chest tight with gratitude for Shinji winding up in this tiny pocket of the universe.

~

They talk about their respective high school lives for at least as long as it takes for two sick people to finish an entire tissue box. Kaworu learns that Shinji used to run track, play percussion in the school marching band and despite being wonderful at cooking now, spent at least a year of home economics burning everything. Kaworu tells him about playing the piano for Rei in their breaks, art being the only class he’d ever failed and his unfortunate reputation as a curse to every sporting co-curricular club.

And beyond all of that, Kaworu learns that when light from the setting sun sneaks its way through the window, it melts right into brown eyes in the richest of ways. He learns that Shinji’s forearms are much too pretty to look at for more than three seconds, that he taps his fingers when he’s trying to figure out what to say, and that he has to puff his cheeks out when he’s trying not to laugh, his chest shuddering in a way that makes Kaworu want to lay a hand to it.

He learns that whatever he tells himself, the time they’ve spent apart will keep pulling Kaworu apart with the ache to sit with Shinji forever; just long enough to forget that living without one another was and still should be his reality.

Above all, Kaworu learns that his heart is a weak, capricious thing. As he ponders what exactly Shinji is learning about him, it alternates readily between stretching and sinking – never a point in between.

~

They keep it together so well, close while still mindful of the quiet barrier that needs to exist between them. It works until there’s a comfortable lapse in conversation and Kaworu turns his head to look to the window. Shinji reaches out, his hand skating along the slope of Kaworu’s shoulder in the quietest of touches and when Kaworu sucks in a sharp breath, turns slowly to look at Shinji and hopes desperately that he doesn’t look as stripped open as he feels. Shinji freezes in place for a moment before his chest seems to stutter and he snatches his hand back, cheeks flushed as he looks away from Kaworu. 

Shinji is halfway through rushed apologies, mentions of lint between  _I’m so sorry_  and he doesn’t stop until Kaworu manages to breathe, swallow and then lay a shaky hand atop his. 

“It’s alright,” he says, dragging his fingers over Shinji’s knuckle before pulling away. His stomach flips when Shinji looks back up and he finds less guilt, less nerves and more of something questioning and steady in Shinji’s eyes. Kaworu withers under it, and it fizzles out just as easy as Shinji sighs. 

“I should get going.”  
  
Kaworu doesn’t protest, still holding his shoulders tight and when Shinji rises, he rises too. He can’t name it, this new tension between them. All he knows is that as it settles around him, he wants to curl in on himself.

“Thank you for today. I really appreciate it,” Shinji says quietly. He sounds sincere, though he’s obviously trying to avoid Kaworu’s eyes.

Kaworu nods weakly, his nerves still standing on end. “It’s nothing. Besides, you were the one that brought the food.”

~

In the entryway, when Shinji has swapped his shoes and tied his laces, he’s got his hand on the door handle when suddenly he takes a deep breath, his chest puffing like it’s trying to pull in all his courage. He looks at Kaworu then, square in the eye and unwavering, as quietly, he says: “I left the noodles at home.”

Kaworu can’t find the energy to look deeper, but the words make his stomach twist all the same.

~

He leaves the thermal container as well; emptied of its contents and its blue lid neatly secure. 

Exhausted, Kaworu curls right up on the sofa. There’s a coiling sense of guilt he feels when his heartbeat spikes as he takes hold of the cushion Shinji had held.

It doesn’t stop him from resting his head against it and falling straight to sleep.

~

  
  
He wakes once when night has just begun to fall and Rei, balancing a bag of groceries on one arm, drapes a blanket over him. She pauses when she sees that his eyes are open and in his sleep thick voice, he murmurs “I wish I could cook okayu for him.”

And then he’s gone again, lost to the dense haze of dreamless sleep.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAWORU!!

_Kaworu dreams of waking up. He dreams of never ending pitch and the most startling clarity behind his eyelids._ It is cold _, he thinks, as he watches a hand – his hand – stretch for the mist of a slowly burning star._

~

It falls apart as if it never was in the first place. Kaworu blinks his eyes open to thin sunlight falling against Rei’s cheek.  There’s a copy of  _The Fundamentals of the Japanese Financial System_ spread out in front of her and when she finds that Kaworu is awake, she folds down the corner of her page and promptly shuts the book entirely.

“Good morning,” she says quietly.

Kaworu yawns and attempts to stretch the locked feeling out of his tired muscles. The sofa feels smaller than ever after spending a night on it.

“What time is it?”

Rei barely glances at the clock before leveling Kaworu with her gaze once more. “About the time I should be leaving. Your boss called. He said to take another day off if you need it.”

Kaworu chuckles, the sound coming hoarse from his parched throat. His fingers tighten around the cushion at his side and then his heart jolts forward as he finds the smooth satin heavy with the memory of Shinji’s fingertips against his own.

When he looks around the apartment, he feels like he has relocated; like the sun now sits on the opposite side of the sky and he is caught in shifting shadows. It’s strange to Kaworu, how Shinji’s presence here feels realer now that he’s gone.

“I’ll go to work,” he says, eyes downcast.

Rei does not respond, only gathering her things and slinging her bag over her shoulder. When she makes for the door, she hesitates by Kaworu and, after a moment of deliberation, she lays her hand softly atop his head.

“The container is on the kitchen counter.”

When he hears the door click shut, he sighs and hauls himself off the couch.

As he gets ready, he tries to focus on nothing but his footsteps, his path; the flooring only giving enough way so as to allow him a view of the closet, the sink, the coffee machine.

It doesn’t do him much good; he still takes a moment to stare at the clear, blue container, sat accusingly on the otherwise bare counter.  
He’s about to shut the front door behind him when, by some curious instinct, he turns back for the kitchen.

~

As he slides a washcloth over the surface of the container and watches soap suds trickle sluggishly down the drain, he can’t shake the feeling that somehow, this moment was inevitable.

~

Sora, one elbow rested on Kaworu’s head, sneezes as they run a finger over the spines of the records Kaworu is in the process of shelving.

“No wonder you got so sick, these racks are a dust storm waiting to happen.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much of a market for our chanson records,” Kaworu replies. He feels compelled to soften his touch as he swaps the order of a Kishi Yoko record with a Laurent one. “Hence the gathering of dust,” he adds, more to himself than to Sora.

Sora hums thoughtfully. “The longer they’re left, the dustier they get. But it’s not really a problem until someone disturbs them.”

“Boss insists on keeping them. He says that for as long as they have even a chance of being found, they’re worth the spot.”

“That’s the old man for you,” Sora says, laughing smoothly.

“I think that he’s right though.”

“Do you now?”

Kaworu nods and Sora moves to ruffle his hair.

“Just vinyl and cardboard,” they say.

 _And a heart and soul,_ Kaworu thinks. He gives Kishi Yoko the slightest of nods before moving on to the instructional section. Sora’s skirt swishes around their knees as they follow.

~

Kaworu is glad to be at work. Sora keeps him company for a good two hours, chatting about the new museum exhibition they’ve been trying to sort out. It’s an easy distraction; Sora moves their hands when they speak, keeps keen eyes locked on whoever is listening in a way that makes one feel important. And it’s with genuine interest that Kaworu finds himself gauging the best spaces to ask questions so that they don’t stop. 

But eventually, the conversation dries, tapering softly to an end as Sora’s voice quiets and Kaworu flits about, sweeping the wood flooring clean. He’s under the false impression that Sora is falling asleep when they surprise him, clearing their throat before speaking softly.

“Grandpa really is worried about you.”

Kaworu’s heart speeds up a little, his shoulders tensing as he waves a dismissive hand.

“Boss is kind; he’ll search for things to worry himself with if it’s too quiet.”

Gracefully, Sora straightens from their perch on Yoshida’s ancient armchair. Its stuffing bleeds from stray tears in the upholstery; Sora has been telling Yoshida to get rid of it for years only to find themself on the receiving end of a knowing smile and a final shake of Yoshida’s head.

Kaworu is focusing on that image when Sora sidles up to him, taking the broom from his hands and gesturing for him to sit.

“That may be so,” They say before smiling and Kaworu finds himself struck, as he so often in, by just how similar the concerned tilt of Sora’s mouth is to Yoshida’s. “But you know, he’s very perceptive. I used to have fights with my mother all the time when I was a teenager. He always knew where I was and what to say.”

Kaworu watches them sweep for a while, idly smoothing his fingers over the armrest as he contemplates humans and their innate ability to care.

Finally, Sora sighs. “Hey kid, that was your cue to tell me what’s up.”

Kaworu frowns, accepting that he’s probably not going to get very far. “If you let me take care of the sweeping, perhaps I’ll talk…not that there’s much to say.”

After considering him for a moment, Sora passes the broom back to Kaworu, eyeing him carefully the whole time.

He settles into the action of sweeping before he speaks. Distraction has come to be something he’s learned the value of when thinking about Shinji.

“Do you remember how the other day I told you about that boy?”

Sora hums. “I thought this might be it,” they say, voice soft.

Kaworu sweeps a rusted coin out from under one of the racks, wonders if whoever lost it might’ve needed it for a purchase. “There still isn’t an issue,” he says. “I’m just being unreasonable.”

“That sounds like an issue to me.”

Kaworu grunts, feeling less and less comfortable with talking about this.

“How are you being unreasonable?” Sora tries, gentle this time.

A moment passes and Kaworu swallows before huffing out a slow breath and flexing his fingers against the broom handle. “Sora,” he starts, trying to fashion his emotions into words while he waits for Sora’s familiar affirmative hum. When he hears it, he knows where to start speaking, though he’s not entirely sure where he’s going.

“There’s that expression about being willing to chase someone to the ends of the Earth.” He pauses, passes the broom from one hand to the other as he looks for answers in the immaculate ordering of records in front of him. “The person who coined that phrase, I wonder what they’d have said had they known the Earth was round.”

He turns now, to see if Sora is still with him. They’re leaning slightly forward, their eyes wide and attentive as they nod for Kaworu to continue.

“Do you think they would have followed that person round and round in circles? There is comfort in what is finite so what does one do if nothing really is?”

Sora frowns in wake of Kaworu’s question. “I find,” they start, “that thinking about the world like that is what leaves a lot of people spooked by their very own existence.”

And perhaps something about the words rings a little too close to home, because Kaworu finds his breath coming shakier as he winds his fingers tight around the broom handle.

“So, this guy….you think you’d follow him round and round?”

Kaworu resists the bitter laugh clawing at his throat. He wonders how Sora might react if he told them that up to this point, his life has been nothing but a sharp circle; outlined over and over again with the dizzy winding of a compass, pencil-spun and wavering occasionally without ever quite stopping.

“It was so beautiful to me…how if nothing else, humans could find purpose in each other.”

Sora breathes a long, weary sigh. “Ah, purpose,” they mutter. “What complete and utter bullshit.”

Kaworu’s eyes widen. “Bullshit?”

Sora nods, smirking at Kaworu. “How can people live being so one-track minded?”

“A sense of purpose is what spurns growth.”

“Nah. There’s a difference between having  _goals_  and living life chasing a single overarching purpose. How could anyone grow if they were restricting themselves to some notion of a single ideal?” Sora laughs before adding, “It’s all, like, thirty-five percent cosmic forces as well.”

Dust floats in the sunlight slipping through the window and Kaworu is struck quiet, contemplating Sora’s words. When he finds the urge to speak again, it comes with a serrated pressure to his chest. “But here I am without a purpose and—“, he has to stop to exhale. When he continues, his voice comes tiny and ragged; as if it is but a speck and the distance to Sora is an entire universe. “And I feel like I’ve forgotten what it is to grow. I might as well have been born right here.”

Sora walks to Kaworu then, their green eyes looking oddly glassy as tentatively, they sling an arm around him. “Maybe that’s because you’re still telling yourself you need a purpose,” they murmur, leaning down to press their sad smile against the side of Kaworu’s head.

It’s almost comforting; the idea settling maybe halfway under Kaworu’s skin when he reminds himself that before these twenty-one years, he wasn’t even human. His heart plummets, icy and straight to his stomach at that. Because if his initial existence itself was no more than calculation, how could anything but purpose lead him to where he is now?

~

Still, Kaworu has never been one to dismiss words as meaningless and so Sora’s voice echoes in all the quiet moments Kaworu comes across for the rest of the day. He finishes his shift at four, coming home by five to sprawl out next to Rei on the sofa.

The two of them sit in silence, rifling absently through exam preparation notes. Normally, Kaworu would manage to find fascination in even the most mundane of topics, but now each statistic is meaningless to him as his restless eyes move repeatedly over the same text.

It isn’t long before Rei catches on, nudging her knee against his.

“You’re distracted,” she says.

Kaworu sets his books aside, releases his breath in a sigh as he lets himself melt against Rei. She shifts slightly, so that Kaworu’s head comes to rest comfortably against her arm.

“Did something happen at work?”

Kaworu yawns, rubbing at his eyes. ”What do you think of purpose?” he asks after a moment.

“I don’t,” is Rei’s simple reply.

“No?”

Rei stiffens, relaxes again, and Kaworu feels her body shift as she sighs. “Anything I might do…another could do it just as well,” she takes a moment and then: “If everyone is expendable then really, what is purpose?”

The ease of Rei’s voice around the words is disconcerting enough that Kaworu tenses; straightening from his lax position. “Expendable,” he repeats, as if to test the definition’s weight.  “Do you really think that about people?”

When he glances at her face, he thinks Rei looks completely unfazed. She doesn’t nod or smile or repeat what she’d said; additional affirmations are cumbersome when it is clear she has gotten her point across.

There are few things Kaworu has been sure of lately but when he takes Rei’s hand and twines their fingers together, he finds himself certain of her.

“Regardless of what purpose may or may not mean, I don’t think I’d have made it this far with anyone but you.”

Rei doesn’t respond, instead ducking her head and looking to the side. Kaworu feels her squeeze his hand though and for the time being, that is beyond tangible enough.

He remembers their first meeting. Ten years old and he’d climbed an ancient tree on the fringe of the school playground. He remembers peering through foliage and feeling unsatisfied with what he could see. So he’d kept hauling himself up to higher branches, even as the bark wore down the skin of his palms and his feet grew sore. He doesn’t know what it was that hooked at his gut and made him reach for new heights; knows only that it felt imperative that he be high enough for Tokyo to unfurl on all sides of him – to see great buildings dappled over the expanse.

He never made it to the top. Around three quarters of the way up, he’d misjudged the height of a branch and lost his footing; falling so fast he’d felt as if he’d never left the ground in the first place. Luckily, his fall had been broken by a well-placed bush. Luckier still, Rei had found him on the ground with twigs in his hair, knees scraped raw, a nasty concussion and a fractured arm. She’d seemed so conflicted when she reached for him, handling him as if his bones were that of a bird’s before another classmate found them both and rushed to find a teacher.

Rei had come with him to the infirmary, shifting her weight from one foot to another as Kaworu had woozily told her that she was the same as him.

It felt appropriate to say at the time. They’d never bring it up again.

He leans back against Rei’s shoulder now, and hopes that there will be a time when a sense of unyielding worth blooms in her ribcage. He hopes it will be fierce enough for her to touch its warmth against her chest.

~

The sun is setting when Kaworu hears his phone buzz. He almost drops it when he unlocks it to find a picture message sent from Shinji. Except presumably, it’s not sent from Shinji because when Kaworu opens it, he finds Mari instead. Her grin is roguish, fingers thrown up in a peace sign and, surprisingly, next to her is  _second_  – no, Asuka Langley Soryu – with a raised brow, looking wholly unimpressed and healthier than Kaworu has ever seen her before. What makes his breath catch, however, is Shinji. He’s leaning safely against a tree next to the two of them. There are books strewn across the grass in front of him but he looks to be fast asleep, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly parted.

Kaworu is confused and alarmed and so completely helpless to the wish that he was there to touch the streaks of waning gold light settling across Shinji’s hair. When he scrolls down he sees a text, probably from Mari – he reads it in her voice, at least.

_‘stop keeping him out so late he’s been falling asleep all day’_

And then further down, a string of winky faces.

Kaworu huffs out a flustered breath, his cheeks warming as he finds himself unexplainably affected by the knowledge that even in small ways, Shinji’s day might’ve been influenced by their time together.

Repercussions frighten Kaworu; repercussions remind him that the moments they have shared are real.

~

He places his phone by his side, rests his elbows on the kitchen counter and stares at the container as if directions might materialise from its depths.

It doesn’t work. He falls asleep none the wiser.

~

_Again, Kaworu blinks to find space. Literal stars and void and pitch in his eyes. And with the parting of his lids he finds himself all too aware of familiar sediment under his toes. A voice – Adam's voice – hissing at him to tread softly. Then the inexplicable knowledge that this land is made up of the jagged remnants of what once shielded Lilith. There is so much longing and bitterness and deep sweltering resentment – not his, still Adams – that he feels as the rock seems to warm against the soles of his feet._

~

It’s dark when Kaworu wakes, trembling and covered in goose bumps. He doesn’t realise that he’s sweating until he lifts his head from the ceramic of the counter and the cool air hits sharp against his skin. The dark makes Kaworu feel like the space is winding tighter around him and the familiarity of his apartment might as well be choking him with how badly he needs to be away from it all.

So he yanks his keys off the hook and tiptoes straight out. Three flights of stairs and the air is fresh and real and Kaworu is swallowing it desperately into his burning lungs. It is roughly five minutes before he doesn’t feel like his skin is crawling, like the world is crawling around him. He stares then, into the yellow window of the house across from him until, eventually, it turns black and a breeze whispers past him carrying the searching chirp of a cricket. He closes his eyes, tries to slow time under the deep, measured breath he exhales and when the beating of his heart feels real and solid once more; he turns his back to the road and looks again to his apartment complex.

He considers the building for a moment, finds that the last thing he wants right now is go back inside and so instead he heads for his car.

~

Kaworu drives in circles and for a little while, it helps. Except eventually, even his block begins to feel too small for his car. When he turns on to the main road, he knows exactly where he is going, though he can’t quite rationalise why. Then again, he isn’t exactly trying to. At each red light he stops in front of, he chances a glance up at the moon. Its glow pits a strange mix of apprehension and assurance in his gut and he’s not sure what to make of the feeling. The drive is long though, and it’s comforting when the roads begin to slope upwards; fleeting city lights dizzily giving way to starlight and slow flickering streetlamps.

Forty minutes and his is the lone car in the parking lot of the convenience store where he and Shinji met. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting, if he’s expecting anything at all, when he walks in. The woman at the cash register smiles a little brusquely at him and he realises that it’s ten minutes until closing time so he inclines his head apologetically; resists the urge to wander aimlessly down each aisle and instead pays for an ice block and leaves. His stomach feels hollow as he walks out, the ice block cold in his hand even through the wrapper. He hears the woman lock the door, and then he folds himself down to sit on the street curb. The wrapper tears easily in his hands and as he wipes a few melted drops of ice across his shirt, he is winded by the force against his chest.

He’s grown so accustomed to watching loneliness from the outskirts that now he finds himself caught off guard by the feeling that pulls so easily at his heart. For a moment all he can do is marvel at the fact that for all the distinctness of the sensation, pain can find one in so many different ways. Never in his life has he felt the lack of another’s warmth against his shoulders so profoundly.

It almost makes him smile.

He finishes his ice block in silence. It’s a nice night; dry with a few clouds swirling the dark sky dull shades of purple. The stars are spread sparsely but they are bright and they lead Kaworu’s eyes hesitantly towards the moon again. It’s almost full today and as Kaworu stares at it he finds himself digging his hands into the ground. The pavement is rough against the thin skin of his palms but it only makes him press harder.

He mostly resigns himself to the hollow ache in his chest. There’s comfort in accepting the feeling but it doesn’t extend far enough for him to stop himself from glancing down the road occasionally. And he realises now, as he imagines the navy of Shinji’s old car and the gleam of his headlights, that as much as anyone else, he is a creature of expectations, of shy hope.

That hope dwindles between his fingertips but it’s still there and it still drains him. When he hears the whir of an engine in the distance, his heart speeds up. And it’s the shallow pounding of the sound, the way it has him tender and restless, that has him wondering if maybe it is time he tries to shake his unflinching assurance in the notion of fate.

In a quiet sort of way, even the thought is freeing.

~

He turns the heater on when he gets back in his car. And he sits there until the feeble puffs of warm air settle into stable warmth against his skin. He thinks of last night and the nature of Shinji’s touch. Firstly, of how compelled he was to give it and then after, of how ready he was to withdraw it. Later, the hushed defiance in his eyes at the front door paired with his hesitant fingers around the door handle.  

Kaworu folds his knees to his chest in the cramped space, kicks off his shoes and sighs. He’s been so caught up in the knowledge that every timeline has seen Shinji in need of Kaworu; he’s found himself ignoring the reality that almost every time, Shinji has come to love him as well.

What is Kaworu supposed to do with love when all he knows of is imploding earth, of running in circles and trying to cup frail pieces of a broken heart in his willing hands.

His fingers tremble when he reaches for his phone, searching for Shinji’s number and bringing up the message screen. He is threadbare and wilting under the greatest sorrow when he wonders why he finds himself incapable of focusing on here and now in this strong, bandaged Earth. The thought of this world used to be everything that held his past together. He thinks of Sora now, of being spooked by his own existence and it hurts when he realises how badly he wants to bury fear; to be here for nothing and here for Shinji and here for himself.

What has he done that makes him undeserving of a home?

Kaworu ruminates and then, he recognises the thudding of his pulse in the way he would regard pregnant sky before a storm. He texts a simple request of wanting to see Shinji, if it is okay. And though he means okay for Shinji, he is not oblivious to the terror pressing at his own windpipe as he hits the send button. Desperately, he tells himself that the ratting of his bones will be okay; that he is making room for change.

It’s not five minutes after he sends the message that he receives Shinji’s reply.

_‘I’d really like that.’_

The breath whooshes swiftly out of him as he turns the key in the ignition and backs out onto the road. He's a flurry of overlapping emotions, whipped and beaten into something that settles smooth and numb over him.

It is twelve am, and however ridiculous an idea it is, Kaworu cannot help the sense that he and Shinji are the only two awake in the world.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have stuck with this fic i am so sorry for the sporadic updates i love you very much i'm still so baffled that people genuinely want to read this fic tHANK YOU I'M SORRY ALL I CAN PROMISE IS THAT I WON'T BE ABANDONING IT


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahhH HH THIS FIC IS STILL GOING HI 
> 
> aLSO a gazillion hearts to aceworu@tumblr who took the time to make [this](http://aceworu.tumblr.com/post/98928421504/daily-draws-inktober-edition-1-10-01-14-fan) lovely fanart!!

Kaworu falls in and out of sleep that night. It eludes him in the frustrating way he’s come to know so well –- when the night’s sweeping hush over the city makes his thoughts that much more difficult to quiet.

Shinji had texted him the address of a coffee shop, agreeing to meet some time after lunch. And then Kaworu had mentioned how late it was, suggesting Shinji get some sleep without speaking a word of the fact that really, every second of looking at his phone screen was adding more weight to the icy sense of trepidation settling in his stomach.

He’s not sure he can truly imagine ever shedding it.

Numb-fingered, he’d clumsily texted Shinji a hasty _‘sleep well_ ’ as an afterthought. He’d meant it too; couldn’t quite fathom the want to be there with Shinji into words.

He thinks of that now, as each moment he is not asleep begins to feel longer than the last. There’s guilt in the weary sigh he exhales into the dark, an odd rift between sensation and his fingers against the cool side of his pillow.

~

It’s humid in the daytime and Kaworu finds his shirt just barely sticking to him within ten minutes of being outside Beat Records. A customer had needed help just as his shift was ending and so he’d stayed back to lead them to the correct aisle, smiling patiently as they’d thanked him and pressed a loving hand to the title in front of them. He’d thought that sweet; genuinely happy as he’d rung up the customers new purchase and asked them to visit again.

It wouldn’t have been a problem except now he is running late to see Shinji. And perhaps it’s irrational but that thought comes with a certain amount of dread. It squeezes at his heart to hurry along its beat, as if the sound might call the train to pull up faster.

And it isn’t that Kaworu is particularly fixated on the principle of punctuality. Time has always been too remarkable to him, too powerful in the way it has spun dizzily in Kaworu’s hands only to swallow him to bend with its current. With that in mind, he is used to regarding those so concerned with punctuality with a sense of pity, thinking it almost petty in the grand scheme of things.

He realises now that maybe he is being unfair; the grand scheme of things is entirely different to someone who feels minutes early or late as fractions of a second. Kaworu is accustomed to living his life in wait, to measuring its starting point at Shinji, only beginning when reason has hooked itself in his body.

That’s exactly why now he’s standing at this train station rocking back and forth on his feet, lip between his teeth as he frowns at the tracks. Waiting is something he knows how to do. He has felt heartache tangled with uncertainty; knows just how to bury it behind his teeth when he smiles. There’s a certain degree of failure, of hurt that comes with the image of Shinji now waiting on him -- even if only for five minutes. After all, he and Shinji have built their fleeting relationship on Kaworu’s measured presence time and time again; Kaworu unravelling the love folded in his chest only so much as to fit Shinji’s needs.

But his initial duty was always simply to be there, and that much Kaworu was certain of, that much he never once failed. Above the absurd shame he feels for that not being the case this time, is the fear of Shinji waiting and wondering. There’s pressure, Kaworu realises, in actively planting himself in another’s life; in trying to make it to someone in one piece.

It’s still habit when Kaworu thinks to himself that Shinji does not need him. And though Kaworu is powerless to the way that knowledge snags and pulls on the dark parts of his chest; his thoughts have the grace to whisper relief. After all, if the city fell apart at Kaworu’s feet or sucked him into its unsteady earth, Shinji might still live the course of his life as if Kaworu was a mere stutter in the breeze.

Now though, now he acknowledges the sadness that idea pits in his stomach. Even Kaworu wants to be remembered, to live even more so. He wishes he held greater faith in the Earth; could view it with a sense of permanence. Or at the very least, to trust that it is real enough to hold steadfast until the sun decides it’s time for change. He has become so frightened to reach, too accustomed to resigning himself to death without giving himself a chance. It’s the type of attitude he’d berate in any other person.

Finally, a train slows in front of him as he wonders to himself, for maybe the thousandth time, what exactly he means to achieve by going to Shinji now.

His stomach flutters as he boards with the tentative thought that it’s okay to not know; that he, just as anyone else, is allowed to regard life without measuring the cause and effect of every single one of his actions.

He’s so tired of only allowing love when he’s holding three quarters of it in the depths of his pockets; when he’s losing himself to it.

And Shinji might not need Kaworu, but he still wants to see him.

_That’s enough, isn’t it?_

~

It has to be enough. The air is even stickier now and he can taste the scent of oncoming rain when he sees Shinji through the window of the coffee shop, elbow on the table and a palm against his cheek as he looks ahead. The air is not as cloying as the warmth that fights to swell inside Kaworu, and he knows that, for as much as he can unlearn and relearn, he will never be able to uproot and untangle the love that’s wound so tight around every fibre of his being. It pushes him through the door, makes him wring his hands when he’s standing in front of Shinji; his tentative feet grounding a nervous smile, his tightening chest. And it has to be enough, Kaworu is pleading that this is enough.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” the words leave him in a rush and Shinji starts at the sound.

When he looks up, there’s a slow smile pulling at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling and Kaworu is dizzy at the sight.

“It’s good to see you,” Shinji says, rising to stand so that Kaworu now has to tilt his chin upwards to meet Shinji’s eyes. “I-I mean uh…it’s only been a few minutes,” he adds, biting his lip as he slides his hands into his pockets and rocks once on his feet.

Kaworu tries to match Shinji’s smile, but with the nerves and the sound of Shinji’s voice echoing somewhere, somehow under his throat, he can feel his brows draw up and he thinks he might look more relieved than anything else.

“Ah, I’m glad I didn’t leave you too long.” Kaworu reaches to rub at his neck as he speaks. “Should we order?” The words are testing, slipping softly from his tongue.

“That sounds good.”

Kaworu takes a moment to scan the coffee shop. It’s a nice place with few customers -- sleek wooden furniture spread sparsely enough that though small, the space doesn’t feel cramped. And the walls are a warm shade of borderline-yellow white, the rich scent of coffee sticking close and heady within their parameters. Cozy would be the best way to describe it and the runaway thought of just how much time Shinji might spend here stretches easily into images of him in one of the corner booths, fingers tight around a steaming cup; perhaps swathed in a scarf, books open at his side.

When Kaworu looks back to Shinji, he feels age weigh a little heavier on his shoulders. Growing older is a process that has happened with relative ease but these moments with Shinji have forced Kaworu to pause and acknowledge time’s presence. He finds himself completely struck by the fact that for so long, he and Shinji have been learning entirely different realities; living in separate worlds, independent of each other yet within the same, shared space. Kaworu might’ve walked past this shop in the past, halted his car at the traffic lights; only metres and a wall away from something so routine as Shinji sipping at his coffee. He remembers being sixteen and picking just the right moment to notice bright red in the middle of a crowd, taking the split-second given to him to look up and find Shinji’s face. He wants to ask if Shinji still owns that scarf.

So many compartmentalised existences. Now, more than ever, Kaworu understands how humans can brush shoulders with one another and still be so lonely.

Shinji shifts his gaze to the tiny queue forming at the front counter and Kaworu doesn’t intend to watch the line of his neck, the slight tilt of his jaw; but he is and it catches him in an easy haze until abruptly, Shinji turns back to meet Kaworu’s stare. He’s got a polite smile ready and Kaworu watches it falter, Shinji’s eyes widening as he catches Kaworu watching him. Heat blooms on the back of Kaworu’s neck and then Shinji’s eyes warm and the curve of his mouth softens to something more inquisitive than anything else. Somehow the lights are brighter; Kaworu is certain of it. And he can’t shake the feeling that the tremble of his sprinting heartbeat stands exposed in the harsh glow between them.

“Is there something on my face?”

“Eyelash.” Before he gives himself the chance to doubt the action, Kaworu brushes his thumb against the cut of Shinji’s cheekbone. His skin is warm and really, that’s completely fitting but the fact still catches Kaworu off-guard. The touch is no more than a flicker of contact but Shinji’s ears flush pink and it’s audible when the breath catches in his throat. It’s too quiet now, as Kaworu’s insides clamp around the fresh, heavy guilt dropped down to weigh on the pit of his stomach.

He’s backtracking, curling his fingers into his palms, his heart lodged in his throat as he looks at Shinji. “I’m sorry, that was--“

A soft laugh breezes past Shinji’s lips. “You just surprised me is all.” His gaze is level when, quietly, he adds: “Thank you.”

Kaworu’s emotions seem to scramble, sticking to the roof of his mouth as he tries desperately to speak.

There are no expectations in the kind smile pulling at Shinji’s lips. When he turns away once more, Kaworu exhales slowly. For as exhausting as it is, he feels the loss of Shinji’s attention much too acutely.

But then there is light pressure against Kaworu’s skin; it takes a moment for Kaworu to realise that the sensation is Shinji skimming his fingers over Kaworu’s elbow. “We should seriously order now,” he says, gentle as he watches Kaworu from the corner of his eyes.

Kaworu swallows thickly, allows the touch to linger for a moment. The resulting warmth never quite fades.

~

Kaworu isn’t quite sure if it’s the caffeine or the fact that they are in public that has him so aware of everything Shinji does.

But if he really thinks about it, this behaviour isn’t out of the ordinary at all. He’s always been attuned to Shinji; taking notice of him in the same automatic way one might check a clock or peer out a window.

Still, each of Shinji’s mannerisms warrants a sense of fascination from Kaworu. There are always moments his memories have never given him, differences that set Shinji apart from who Kaworu has known in the past. It’s like this every time; no wonder the ease of Kaworu’s curiosity feels so familiar.

But until now they’ve never had coffee together.

So Kaworu watches as Shinji runs his index finger over the rim of his cup, tears a packet of sugar with his teeth and meticulously sprinkles only half of its contents into his coffee. When he hunches forward to blow into his cup, it seems as if the steam curling upwards is intent on kissing his lips.

A part of Kaworu that is getting increasingly difficult to bury under caution wonders what it might be like to take that steam secondhand.

With that thought, he forces himself to look at his own coffee. He doesn’t realise he’s staring until Shinji speaks.

“Is everything okay?”  
  
For a moment panic freezes Kaworu’s spine. He feels worn thin from lying, fearful that his smile is more stale than reassuring.

“There isn’t anything in the coffee that shouldn’t be there, right?”

Just as easily, Kaworu feels himself deflate; exhaling in relief as he realises that Shinji is only referring to the cup in front of him. The relief makes way for a jab of frustration. The moment keeps spinning in his head. He resents how easily he’d locked up, can’t help but grimace at the thought, before remembering that Shinji is looking at him right now and such an expression is probably doing little to alleviate his concern. He shakes his head quickly, faces Shinji with his palms up and swallows any potential quivers in his voice.

“It’s fine. Sorry, I’m just a little distracted.”

Kaworu reaches for the sugar now; there’s some sort of affirmation in the weight of the packets held firmly between his fingers.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from anything else you need to get done today?” Shinji sounds guilty when he speaks, in the way that always breaks Kaworu’s heart. To have been the cause is still one of the absolute worst feelings he can think of.

“Not at all,” he manages, though his face feels a little tight. “I invited you out after all.” He tries for a smile now, thinks it must be about halfway there.

“Ah, about that…was there any particular reason?”

Kaworu figures admitting he snuck out in the middle of the night to drive to a convenience store and longingly watch traffic is not a very appropriate answer, however nice the colour of Shinji’s car may be.

“I wanted to see you,” Kaworu says. He fumbles with tearing open his sugar now; his coffee has probably gone cold.

 _For?_  seems to hang tight in the air between them. Kaworu fidgets, focuses on pouring the sugar in his cup. He can’t think of a lie to tack onto the end of his answer; wanting to see Shinji is already so particular that Kaworu hates himself a little for it.

But above that, Kaworu hates that Shinji does not see his presence as reason enough.

He hears Shinji sigh after a moment. “Oh, well in any case I was happy that you asked. I get kind of worried tha--“

Kaworu looks up at the sudden stilt in conversation to find Shinji’s eyes wide with a vague sort of horror, trained on Kaworu’s hands. Shinji gulps audibly.

“Th-that is _a lot_ of sugar.”

Kaworu flexes his free hand almost protectively over his cup. “It’s only s--“

“Six packets.”

“Seven,” Kaworu corrects.

Shinji pales considerably. “Can you even taste the coffee like that?”

“I’m not judging by any means, but it’s always confused me how people go out of their way to drink something so bitter.”

“ _I’m_ judging. I’m judging you a little.” Shinji says. But his mouth is just barely turned up in the shadow of an incredulous smile.

Kaworu finds himself in awe of just how quickly this conversation shifted tone. He isn’t complaining though, it’s rare that he feels this light. “It’s much nicer this way.”

Shinji shakes his head, huffing out the slightest of laughs. “You’re kind of mysterious, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to put a daily intake’s worth of sugar in your coffee.”

“Mysterious?” Kaworu certainly hadn’t expected that.

Shinji looks away, coughing slightly, before raising his cup to his mouth. Half his face is covered but Kaworu notices that his cheeks are flushed. “Th-that is um--“

“Are mysterious people above putting sugar in their coffee?”

Shinji lowers his cup before he manages to sip from it, the smile fighting a little harder at his lips.

“Certainly above putting si-seven packets in.”

Kaworu contemplates his coffee for a moment, before taking a deliberate sip and setting it lightly back down on the table. When he looks back up, he is just in time to catch Shinji’s gaze flicker hurriedly away, the blush spread over his cheeks considerably darker.

“Being mysterious doesn’t sound particularly enjoyable.” Kaworu says.

Shinji must realise that the silence they now sit in is flimsy, harbouring something dangerous under it. When he looks back to Kaworu, his eyes are soft. He hums thoughtfully before speaking.

“I’m glad to hear that from you.”

Kaworu feels slow heat twist easily at his stomach, his breatch catching in his throat.

~

They take their time; sipping slow at their coffee for a good forty-five minutes despite the liquid having gone cold at least half an hour ago. Customers filter in and out so that the space between them feels protected by an exclusive stillness. Kaworu has never experienced this before -- lingering for the sake of company. They cycle through topics of conversation with an ease that comes naturally; Kaworu recovering from his cold to a list of illness-deflecting superfoods Shinji had read about on the internet. The pros and cons of certain vegetables (Shinji will not so much as touch beetroot) to Touji being able to consume his own weight worth of food in one sitting whilst also being the fussiest eater Shinji has ever known. The one birthday where Shinji had been gifted a cookbook dedicated to “man-food”, how ridiculous of a concept “man-food” is, and the book’s current status of gathering dust in the back of one of Shinji’s kitchen cabinets. Sometimes, when he reaches for a plate he can see part of the title, and he can’t quite figure out if what he feels is fear or guilt.

Kaworu manages a genuine laugh at that image, and the way Shinji leans back in his seat, looking entirely too pleased with himself, warms Kaworu down to his toes.

The silence that comes then is one that is fast becoming very familiar to Kaworu; when he is struck by the exposure of low-roiling emotion weighing heavy on his tongue.

That is territory he won’t let himself breach and so he too learns how to direct their conversation. At first it feels like the words have to fight their way from his throat, but eventually he falls into it in the way one becomes reacquainted with a long-unpracticed skill.

“Do you read a lot then?” He asks, resting his face against his palm.

Shinji takes a moment before shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t really have the time.” He swishes his coffee now, downing the last of it before speaking again. “I used to a lot when I was younger. But um--“ His voice drops quieter now, and he casts his gaze to his hands self-consciously. “I-I’d sort of project all my emotions onto these characters way too readily -- just get much too invested in it all until I’d be reading nonstop for days and getting nothing else done.”

Kaworu thinks of Rei now. He’s never met someone who reads books as readily as her; they rest in stacks in her room, stand propped against windowsills and peek out from under her pillows.

It had always frustrated Kaworu whenever he’d hear the other children talking about her being cold, emotionless. He’s always thought that if anything, Rei’s mind is turning so constantly that her thoughts all fold into a sort of blanket-hush. She has always possessed a striking clarity, an innate desire to understand.

“I miss it though,” Shinji adds, a little wistfully. And Kaworu’s attention switches easily back to him. “When I moved up to middle school there was just so much studying that needed to be done to get into high school and then high school was even more intense to get into university.”

Kaworu grants him a sympathetic nod, caught between feeling a sense of wonder regarding the drive Shinji must hold, as well as a hint of sadness for the countless hours of work he must have put in; the worry that must have so often wrung out all his energy. “I hope you’ve struck an easier balance now.”

Shinji shifts to rest his face in his hands, so that he’s mirroring Kaworu’s stance. His smile is sincere. “Definitely. I’m genuinely happy with where I am and where I’m going academically. Getting into Toudai was enough to get my father off my case and I’ve been in a much better place these past few years.”

Kaworu’s eyes widen and he can’t help but lean forwards, gasping softly. “ _Toudai?_ You’re amazing!”

Shinji’s entire face is red now. “Thank you…Oh my god.” Kaworu sees him try to bite back a smile, taking a moment until his blush dulls a little. “But this coming from someone who can keep a cool head during exams. I’m afraid you’re the amazing one.”

Kaworu shakes his head, the laugh drawing easily from him. “Not at all,” he says.

A moment passes, Kaworu remembering the sight of well-loved astronomy textbooks before he hums Shinji’s name in question.

Shinji tenses at the sound, a pleased smile replacing the reaction just as fast. “Yes?”

“Can I ask why you thought I’d suit being a veterinarian?”

Shinji groans, covering his face with his hands. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

Kaworu wants to press his fingers to Shinji’s. He swallows thickly. “It was an interesting thing to say.” His voice is careful.

Drawing his hands away from his face, Shinji sighs as if he is about to impart a great secret. “I looked at you and you seemed like the type who would be good with animals?”

Kaworu breathes out a laugh at that and Shinji frowns, pushing forward slightly now.

“But that’s-that’s not um…really, I think I can see you doing anything, and I think you’d manage to make it important.”

Kaworu’s breath whooshes out of him at that. “O-oh,” is all he manages, too stunned to say anymore.

But Shinji smiles shyly and Kaworu gets the impression that at least some of his gratitude was conveyed.

~

When they finally make their way out of the coffee shop, the sky is just barely bruised pink from under the shield of looming, heavy grey clouds. It’s still humid out and the scent of impending rain is more prevalent than before.

Kaworu feels moisture hit his shoulder. He turns to see Shinji looking up to survey the sky.

“It’s going to rain,” Shinji mutters, just as Kaworu feels a few more droplets settle in his hair. “How are you getting home?”

Kaworu shakes his head. "By train."

They both begin to walk a little faster and _going to rain_ turns into _is definitely raining_ as the sparse drops shift into a drizzle.

“I don't have an umbrella.” Shinji gasps and then the drizzle rushes forth into a loud, heaving pour and Kaworu about feels his heart leap out of his chest when Shinji crowds him under the measly half-cover of a nearby shopfront’s awnings.

Shinji lifts his hands from Kaworu almost immediately, but they’re already drenched, standing close enough that the tips of their shoes meet. The rain has stretched the fabric of Kaworu’s shirt so thin that he can still feel the warmth of Shinji’s palms on his upper arms; as if Shinji had touched his bare skin.

When he looks up, Shinji is already staring at him. His hair is soaked, flopping into his eyes and Kaworu feels his heart clench when he spots a drop of rain falling from one of the strands onto Shinji’s nose.

If Kaworu took one step back, he knows he’d feel the cold. Here, he can hear Shinji trying to catch his breath, there’s warmth in the sound; a proof of life so amazing Kaworu wishes he could brush his lips against it. His thoughts have never felt so natural when he imagines pressing his face to Shinji’s neck, the thrum and skip of his pulse under Kaworu’s ear. Or to hold a hand to the flutter of Shinji’s chest -- even a fraction of that touch -- Kaworu wants it.

And Shinji is holding still, looking curiously down at Kaworu like he’d let him take it.

Against the grey of the sky, Shinji’s eyes look so much brighter and Kaworu knows he couldn’t look away if he tried. So they hold each other’s gaze, Shinji still with that hint of challenge. It could change everything if Kaworu were only to press forward, just a touch.

He knows he won’t and it feels like defeat. His mouth works over words he doesn’t have and Shinji catches on, releases his breath in a ragged sigh and takes a half-step back.

Kaworu hadn’t even realised how tight his heart was, how still his lungs were until there’s fresh space between them and everything in him seems to drop. His chest is burning with longing for the moment that just slipped between them; he wishes more than anything that he’d chased it. The rain seems harsher somehow, and the sound of it comes with the realisation that when he is with Shinji, there’s always a hush, an arresting of time, of everything except the knowledge of the two of them and whatever space spans their distance. It’s as freeing as it is terrifying.

He thinks he might’ve spotted a flash of lightning from the corner of his eyes when hesitantly, Shinji extends his hand to touch his thumb to the jut of Kaworu’s wrist.

“You might get sick. I'll drive you home?”

Kaworu is so tired. So accustomed to resistance and avoidance and trying to forget himself. And it’s all been futile, doing little more than rubbing his chest raw. His breath trembles when it slips from between his chattering teeth.

Before Shinji draws his hand away, Kaworu brushes his fingertips over Shinji’s palm. Shinji’s eyes are hopeful, intent as Kaworu nods very slowly.

“Thank you,” he says.

Shinji's answering smile spreads slow, tremulous. Kaworu tells himself  _later,_ he will berate himself for loving that smile turned in his direction later. 

**Author's Note:**

> prays that i don't abandon this fic ahhhh


End file.
